


Of Mutts and Men

by detectivejigsaw



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adeline is property of hntrgurl13, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Curse Breaking, Depressed Ford, Depressed Stan, Doggo Falls AU, Ford is an idiot, Gen, Mystic Amulet (mentioned), OCs - Freeform, Pre-Bill, Protective Stan Pines, So much angst, The AU no one asked for, Wizard Curse, dog!Stan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 30,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22991884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw
Summary: While he's homeless, Stan Pines make another big mistake and gets cursed by a powerful wizard; the only way it can be broken is by means he believes absolutely impossible for him.Four months later, Ford finds an unexpected guest on his doorstep, and makes what he thinks is a new friend.Yet another AU that absolutely no one asked for, but that just tickled my fancy too much to be ignored.  It is partly inspired by a Sherlock fanfic called "Heartlessly Cursed," which I discovered on fanfiction.net years ago, but I dunno if I need to ask the writer for permission to write this since it's not exactly the same or even in the same fandom.  If I was supposed to, please forgive me and don't sue me; I'm a grad student, I don't have money.
Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Comments: 606
Kudos: 315





	1. Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MotherOftheUniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherOftheUniverse/gifts).



> Since MotherOftheUniverse has been so generous in gifting me her stories, it seemed only fair to gift one in return. Hopefully it is enjoyable in premise.

The last six years had been the worst of Stan Pines’s life; the day he tried to cheat a wizard at poker, however, made it very suddenly and unexpectedly worse, even though he’d thought that was impossible at this juncture.

In his defense, there had been no obvious signs that the man who offered to play a friendly game of cards with him in the nearly-empty bar (except for them and the bartender) _was_ a wizard; no pointy hat, no robe decorated with moons and stars or whatever, not even a long beard-just a neat little clipped one that he was pretty sure was dyed black. The only thing that might have indicated he wasn’t quite what he seemed were the rings he was wearing on all his fingers. No two were alike, and they sparkled with far more luster than your average rocks; one of them was shaped like a tiny dragon wrapped around his finger. But Stan figured that just meant he was rich, and possibly easy pickings. So he’d put on his best charmer smile, and pulled out his lucky deck, and sat down across from the man, ready to make a killing.

He’d been wrong. He’d been so, so wrong.

As Stan tried to grab his pile of winnings, one of the many-ringed hands clamped down on his wrist.

“Do you really think you can cheat me at cards and get away with it, ‘8-Ball’?” the man asked in icy tones.

Stan’s heart jumped into his throat, and he briefly considered trying to lie...but one look into the other man’s cold dark eyes negated his chances of getting away with that. So he just yanked his arm free, and threw his hands up in mock surrender.

“Okay, you caught me, I’ll just let you keep everything and-” Seconds later he was out of his chair and sprinting for his car.

He didn’t get far; it was like a giant hand suddenly closed around him, lifting him into the air and turning him (which definitely didn’t do his fear of heights any favors), and despite his struggling with all his strength he was towed back to the man. The bright blue-green gem set in one of his rings was glowing, and his eyes were shiny with contempt.

Stan looked around in a panic, but the bartender had gone into the back, and seemed unable to hear the ruckus. There was not a soul around to help him (situation normal).

“Sorry, but you’re not getting off that easily, 8-Ball Alcatraz. Or is it Hal Forrester? Oh, no, wait-Steve Pinington?” His hand closed into a fist, and for a moment Stan couldn’t even breathe. Then he asked, “Just who are you really, hmmm?”

Stan told him to [CENSORED] off.

The wizard (Stan suspected that was the right description for him) raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow at the suggestion.

“Very well, then. That actually helps me greatly in deciding your punishment.” One of his other rings, set with an amber stone, began to glow.

“I think I’m going to give you a new form, something to match the personality of one who’s forced to beg and steal and fight to protect his own worthless, pitiful existence.” And Stan barely heard the next part, because by then the new light had wrapped around him and he’d started screaming in pain. “And the only thing that will change you back is for another to know who you really are, and to say your name in love.” The wizard sniffed. “Old-fashioned and melodramatic of me, I know, but it will serve its purpose.”

It was the last thing Stan heard before he lost consciousness.

* * *

Four months later, Stanford Pines opened his front door, ready to go exploring the wondrous woods of Gravity Falls again, and found a dead dog lying on his front porch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine the wizard as looking like either a cleaner version of Jack Sparrow (complete with guyliner!) or David Bowie. Or maybe even the two of them mixed together...


	2. Ford Pines, unprofessional veterinarian

It took Ford a moment to realize that no, the dog was not actually dead; its chest was rising and falling, albeit very slow and shallow.

He was still just as bewildered and surprised as when he thought there was a dead dog lying on his porch.

_How on earth did it get here? Why? Was it left here by someone with a grudge against me, as some kind of bizarre warning? Who would that even be?_

Besides the gnomes, no immediate possibilities came to mind-

He was startled out of his thoughts by the side of its face twitching, reminding him that this creature was alive, and in a very bad way.

Its thick brown coat was matted and filled with burrs, thorns and mud-and, he realized as he knelt to examine it further, dried blood. Most of it was gathered around its back and ribs and legs, but there were also traces clotted in the fur on its muzzle; Ford suspected it-then he gingerly lifted one of the hind legs, and corrected himself- _he_ had been in a fight with something. And he suspected that the dog probably gave as good as he got; he was absolutely _enormous_. His front leg alone was pretty much as long as Ford’s arm. The scientist wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if he turned out to have some wolf blood in his veins.

There was a moment of indecision on Ford’s part as to what he should do-he had never owned a dog, and he only liked dogs as long as they didn’t try to bite him, which had happened a few times when he was a child. On the other hand, this one was badly injured-and it looked half-starved too, he noticed upon examination of his ribs-and what kind of person would he be if he left an animal to die on his porch because he’d been planning to go exploring in the mountains instead? Besides, maybe it was a werewolf or a skinwalker or something; he could finally get some information on their species right from the source, instead of speculation and gossip.

So Ford went inside quickly, and gathered together whatever supplies seemed like they would help him out with this situation, moving most of them to the downstairs bathroom. Then he washed his hands, and finally remembered to pull on some of his specially-made rubber gloves to protect him from whatever infectious diseases the dog might be crawling with (at least to some extent); then he returned to the porch, and began dragging the dog into the house.

* * *

He opened his eyes as Ford got him over the threshold; as soon as he appeared to be conscious enough to realize what was happening, he let out a frightened yelp and, despite his weakened state, began trying to squirm away.

“Ssh, ssh, it’s okay, boy,” Ford soothed, patting him and hoping he was saying the right thing.

Unfortunately, the sound of his voice made the animal stiffen for a moment, before trying even more frantically to escape. Even though he was weak as a kitten, Ford was forced to pretty much wrestle with him so he wouldn’t lose his grip.

At last, though, he successfully towed the dog into the bathroom, and managed to pick him up enough to tip him into the tub.

He was sure that he’d get even more resistance, but the moment the dog saw his face, he stopped struggling. In fact, he stared right into Ford’s eyes for a long moment, before his own eyes rolled back in his head and he flopped weakly against the side of the tub.

Ford blinked.

“...Well, I suppose that will make things easier.”

Just in case, he checked to make sure the dog was still breathing, and then got started on cleaning him up.

The work took hours; it seemed like the dog had been living in the woods for a long time, so his coat was filled with all kinds of nasty substances and fleas and ticks (no botflies, though; Ford wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed about that), in addition to sores and wounds that he was lucky didn’t have worse levels of infection. Ford hoped that peroxide was as okay to use on animals as it was on humans, because he used up half the bottle on him. He made a mental note to see if there was a pet store or veterinarian in town; if there was, he couldn’t remember.

The dog regained consciousness as he worked, but he didn’t try to escape again. He just lay there, watching him with very apprehensive brown eyes and barely even whimpering as he was cleaned up and dried off and bandaged.

By the time he’d finished, Ford was soaked, and he wished he’d thought to wear a work apron as well as gloves, because his clothes were painted with muck.

“Thanks a lot,” he told the dog, peeling off his gloves. “Looks like you transferred all your filth to me.”

Surprisingly, the dog’s ears lowered against his skull a little as if he were ashamed.

Ford gave him a thoughtful stare...and then left to get some clean clothes.

* * *

Stan wondered if he was dreaming.

That was nothing new; nowadays he spent most of his time wondering if he was stuck in some kind of bizarre dream, though he was becoming more and more unsure if he was a human dreaming about being a dog, or a dog dreaming about once being a human.

He _thought_ he’d been a human for a long time; he thought he could remember doing human things, like driving a car (oh, he shouldn’t have remembered that; he’d howled so miserably as he’d been forced to helplessly watch the Stanley Mobile get towed away, along with everything he owned), and dancing with a pretty girl in purple hotpants, and running up and down the beach with his brother-

The pain he’d felt from reliving these dreams (memories?) had helped him feel that they were more than just dreams...but there had also been the harsh reality of his having large, non-opposable-thumbed paws to wake up to, confusing him about which was the truth.

Except that now his brother-his real live, nerdy, six-fingered brother-was actually here, and touching him and speaking to him, giving him hope that maybe it hadn’t been a dream after all, unless he was just some kind of psychic dog (unlikely).

Now he was laying on the bathroom floor where Ford had left him, many of his injuries throbbing from finally getting cleaned out (he’d done the best he could, but there was only so much you were capable of with just your mouth and tongue-ugh, that opens the opportunity for so many dirty jokes, sorry), but at least he finally felt _clean_.

Stan laid his head on his paws, and let out a small sigh.

If this was a dream, he was okay with not waking up any time soon.

* * *

He was awakened by the door opening, and Ford-dressed in a fresh button-up and jeans that Stan could smell had been washed recently (looked like the nerd had finally learned to do his own laundry)-came in and crouched down in front of him.

“I suppose I ought to scrounge up some food for you,” he mused.

Stan’s tail involuntarily wagged; the last time he’d eaten was when he caught a squirrel in the woods, which had quickly led to the incident with the little freaks in the red hats that was partly responsible for his current condition.

Ford nodded decisively, and stood up. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

_Don’t worry, Poindexter, I ain’t goin’ anywhere._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen videos on YouTube that show people having to pull botflies out of animals. They manage to simultaneously be the most disgusting thing I've ever seen in my life, and so intriguing that I just have to keep watching more of them. Go fig.  
> If anyone would get a kind of sick enjoyment out of removing them, it would be Ford.


	3. Two truths and a lie

The fridge only had some apples and a container of lunch meat that Ford realized was past the expiration date (and quickly threw out in embarrassment), but he found a can of corned beef hash that was still good in a cupboard, and poured it into a bowl.

_ I might need to get groceries soon. _

After some consideration, he dug around in his cupboard full of weird supplies he’d found in the forest, and produced some seeds from a flower that had some healing and strengthening properties; he ground them up and added them to the meat, before bringing it to the bathroom, followed by another bowl filled with water.

The dog sniffed suspiciously at the food when he set it before him, but then did a motion with his shoulders that was almost like a shrug, and dug in ravenously. Ford sat in a chair by the door and watched him, taking copious notes in his journal all the while.

This dog really was strange-looking, and not just because of his size. His ears seemed almost too big for his head, and while they were mostly pointed the ends flopped a little when he moved. He had a long, shaggy muzzle like a wolfhound, and teeth that looked like they could crush tin cans with little effort. His eyes had two tufts of darker fur over them that Ford was amused to realize resembled a pair of big, bushy eyebrows, and the rest of his body was covered in different shades of brown, with a few white splashes here and there, and a very light brown splotch in the middle of his chest fur. It was like someone had taken several different breeds of dogs and just smashed them together to create a whole new variety that had never been seen before.

“You’re obviously not a purebreed,” he murmured. “Just what kind of parents did you have?”

The dog growled slightly as he lapped at the empty bowl.

Ford laughed. “That bad, huh?”

His head dipped up and down, and then he moved to his water bowl, licking as much up as he could. Even when the dish was empty he continued licking.

“Here, I can get you some more.” Ford knelt and took the bowl, refilling it at the sink and returning it. The dog’s tail thumped against the floor, and then he resumed drinking.

When he’d re-emptied the bowl, he looked up at Ford, who asked, “Feeling any better?”

His head bobbed again. Clearly the seeds’ magic worked on animals just as well as they did on humans; he was already sitting up straighter, and his eyes were less glazed than they’d been earlier.

“Good.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, wondering what he should do now. He really didn’t have experience with animals  ~~ except for a possum when he was eleven, and he had been more Stanley’s pet ~~ ; all he knew was that they were often expensive-

And then his observation skills finally caught up with his eyes and gave them a hearty smack.

“Wait a second, did you just nod?!”

* * *

_ Crap. _

_ Crap crap crap crap CRAP _

_ Play dumb play dumb play dumb _

Stan made his stare as nonplussed as possible, tilting his head to one side and blinking a little in proper canine fashion.

_ Nothing unusual here, just a regular old dumb dog, yes sir! _

Ford narrowed his eyes at him.

Stan wagged his tail again.

At last Ford said, “... I’ve never had a dog before. My father didn’t approve of them.”

_ Yeah, I remember. “Do I look like I’m made of money? We can barely afford to support three kids who eat everything in sight, there’s no way I’m ever gonna spend money on a dog!” _ Stan just leaned his head down, started licking one of his paws around where Ford had bandaged it.

“But from what I’ve heard, they are a big responsibility.” His brother crouched in front of Stan, chewing his pen and still watching him intently. “If I decided to keep you, I’d have to see if there’s a place in town that sells pet supplies, like food and toys and all that.”

_ Ugh, I hope you’re not gonna expect me to play fetch with you. _ Stan hated how another part of his brain asked with excitement,  _ Fetch?! _

“And maybe take you to a groomer’s so they can make your fur more presentable; it’s a mess.”

Inside, Stan rolled his eyes.

_ Have  _ you _ looked in the mirror lately, Sixer? You’re not exactly John Travolta either. _

“...And I wonder if there’s a vet I could talk to about getting you fixed-”

He barely moved out of reach in time to avoid losing a hand.

_ DON’T YOU EVEN  _ THINK _ ABOUT TRYING THAT I SWEAR I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE MY BROTHER I WILL TEAR YOURS OFF TOO- _

Stan’s barrage of furious barking was unexpectedly cut short by Ford’s triumphant yell.

“HA! I  _ knew _ you could understand me!”

Since his range of facial expressions was sadly limited now that he was a dog, Stan could only hope that the look he gave his twin conveyed at least half of his disgust. He twisted away, glaring at the tub as he waited for the hair on the back of his neck to settle down from his anger-feeling annoyed with himself for giving the game away so easily.

“Don’t be like that,” Ford protested, maneuvering back into his line of sight. “I had to make sure I wasn’t just imagining things! You don’t understand-I won’t tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about, I promise. I study things that are strange and weird for a living, and you definitely qualify!”

_...Your social skills really haven’t improved in the last six years. _

Stan’s gaze must have looked unimpressed; Ford backtracked quickly. “Sorry, I just meant that-this is amazing! You’re amazing!”

Stan was disgusted with himself now for being pleased to hear his brother say this about him under the circumstances.

“Are-are you by chance a werewolf?” Ford asked, almost quivering with eagerness.

Stan thought about lying-but shook his head no. It was probably too easy to disprove.

Ford only looked a little disappointed. It didn’t last long, though, as new ideas sprang into his head.

“Are you just a very intelligent dog who was subjected to government experimentation maybe, or were you once a human or-” His eyes brightened again. “Are you under a curse?!”

_ Even if I could talk right now, it’d be kind of hard to answer when you can’t stop to take a breath between questions. _

Self-consciousness crept back into his brother’s face as he seemed to understand Stan’s expression again-and then inspiration lit it back up.

“Can you-can you read? Do you know what letters are?”

Stan gave an irritable nod. That had been a great help to him in avoiding the dogcatcher on two different occasions, and once even helped him escape from an animal shelter.

“Hold on, I have an idea! Be right back!” Ford leaped up and ran out of the bathroom.

Stan laid his head on his paws, wondering what he was getting himself into.

_ Way to go, genius-letting him know you can understand him. _

_ Well, what was I supposed to do? He was threatening to- _ Just the thought was enough to make him shudder a little.

But revealing that he wasn’t just another dumb dog meant that a whole new set of worries were in his path.

For now, at least, his brother was enjoying his presence, and most likely wanted him to stay. Because he was a dog who could understand human speech, and who he had realized might actually be under a curse; that made him something weird to study, an interesting puzzle to be solved. The most logical conclusion, therefore, was that under no circumstances should Ford be allowed to discover who he really was. Because as weird as the situation was, Stan had just gotten his brother back, sort of, and he didn’t think he could take it if-

Ford came rushing back in. “Do you think you can walk?”

Stan tried and failed to get to his feet. He let out a frustrated growl, but they remained weak and useless.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Without further ado, Ford came around and looped his arms under his front legs, half-dragging him again like he had when bringing him inside. Stan was humiliated, but admitted to himself that it wasn’t like they had many other options at the moment.

Ford towed him into the living room, where he’d set up a pile of blankets with, of all things, a Scrabble board lying in front of it. He deposited Stan on the blankets, facing the board.

“You can use the letters from this to write out answers to my questions!” he said triumphantly.

Well. It wasn’t the worst solution his brother could have come up with. Even though there was still the problem of, oh, you know, Stan not having actual  _ hands _ , meaning he’d have to pick them up with his mouth.

_ Hope he doesn’t mind having occasional bite marks on these things. _

He gave a resigned nod.

Ford sat down cross-legged on the other side of the board, journal and pen poised. “So,  _ are _ you under a curse?”

Stan was about to start looking for the Y tile-until he remembered that this was a yes or no question. He nodded.

“What happened?”

Thankfully his brother had had the foresight to turn all the letters right-side up; Stan looked through them until he found the ones he wanted, and painstakingly laid them out on the board.

W-I-Z-A-R-D.

31 points-not bad. Granted, they weren’t actually laid on the squares, but whatever-it wasn’t like Stan ever cared about board game rules.

“Was the wizard invisible?”

Stan gave his brother a look.

“...Sorry. I’ve heard rumors that there’s an invisible wizard living around here.” He scribbled in his journal. “Can you tell me how the curse was cast, or why?”

Stan considered. Then he explained, slowly because he had to kind of literally hunt and peck, M-A-D-E H-I-M M-A-D and M-A-G-I-C R-I-N-G-S.

“I see…” Ford muttered. “Did he give you any kind of clues about how to break the curse?”

Stan’s stomach churned. For a moment he was frozen with indecision...then he shook his head no.

“Rats. That might have made things a little easier.”

_ Trust me, Sixer, it wouldn’t. _

“Well, if you want, maybe I can help you figure out how to break it,” Ford said at last. “I know we haven’t known each other long, and I might seem a little strange to you, but it seems like you haven’t been doing too well on your own. I’d be happy to provide food and shelter for you until or unless we find a solution to your problem. And in return, you can keep me company and help me with my research, if you like-I could use someone with a good sense of smell.”

It was weird, Stan thought, how a few simple sentences could warm your heart and make it shatter into pieces at the same time.

But Ford was looking at him expectantly, waiting for some kind of answer; and besides, if anyone could figure out a way to break his curse without following the rules, it was his genius brother. So he lifted his paw and held it out. And Ford, after a moment of confusion, realized what the gesture meant, so he took it in his hand and shook.

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess you could call this the "Brainy and the Beast" AU, sort of.  
> ...No one?


	4. That which we call a rose

**_March 3_ **

**_Today I acquired a unique new research assistant-specifically, when I found him passed out on my porch!_ **

Ford wrote about his uncovering of the dog’s intelligence and sentience, and the deal they had struck. **** Then he began sketching his new friend, who had gone back to sleep, and was now lying quite still aside from the occasional twitching and whimpering. As he drew, he made notes and observations:

**_He accidentally bit through one of my E tiles-I will have to see if I can buy another Scrabble set in town, just in case._ **

**_Does his current size reflect how tall he was when he was human?_ **

**_What could he have gotten in a fight with that could have put him in such a state? Knowing this area like I do, it could be anything from a mountain lion to a manotaur._ **

**_I forgot to ask if he’s from Gravity Falls-if not, he could provide interesting data for my weirdness magnetism theory!_ **

**_I also forgot to ask for his name-must remember to do that when he wakes up._ **

**_There’s an interesting mark on his chest that looks a bit like a fish-I could swear I’ve seen it before..._ **

It reoccurred to Ford that he should probably find out if there were a vet and/or a pet store in town. And then he felt a little ashamed to be thinking like this, since this wasn’t just an animal, it was a person in an animal’s body, and he might find it a little demeaning if Ford started treating him like a pet. And then he considered that even if this was a person in an animal’s body, he still had the physiology of an animal, and therefore he would at the very least need to be fed properly, and maybe have a real animal doctor look over his injuries instead of relying on Ford’s dubious medical skills.

It was still a few more minutes before he stopped overthinking and rehashing the issue, and instead went over to the Scrabble set and formed some of the letters to say, G-O-N-E T-O T-O-W-N B-E B-A-C-K S-O-O-N in case his guest woke up while he was gone. Then he grabbed his coat and slipped out the front door.

* * *

There was still plenty of snow on the ground, Ford noticed as he trudged down the road. It had started melting here and there as the weather warmed up, but not enough to get rid of it altogether. Hardly weather for anyone to be out wandering in the forest by themselves, even with a thick fur coat.

He wandered onto the main street of town first, looking up and down the different shops for anything that might be for animals. Success was slow in coming; he ended up walking into a bar, a toy shop, and another kind of establishment he wasn’t even aware they had in Gravity Falls which had him hurrying out, face crimson with embarrassment (in hindsight, it should have been obvious that “The Pink Pussycat” was not a pet store name).

At last he was forced to concede defeat and go to a small convenience store for help.

“What can I do ya for, stranger?” asked the man at the counter-an older gentleman with liver spotted hands and a tag that read simply “Pa.”

“Is there a veterinary clinic somewhere in town?” Ford asked, resisting the urge to correct his grammar; ~~Stanley~~ people had pointed out to him time and time again that doing that, at least to people he didn’t know, was kind of annoying and could even be seen as rude.

“Oh, sure! You just take a left at the courthouse; it’s the white building on the right side of the street.” Pa quickly grabbed a map from the rack next to the cash register and opened it, clearly intent on drawing him further directions.

“No, I-I know where that is now, thank you.”

Pa blinked, handing him the map anyway. “You passed through here before?”

“...I live here. I’ve been living here for a couple of years now.”

There was an awkward pause...before Pa cackled, and waved a hand at him.

“Good one, son, you nearly had me for a moment. Run along now.”

“But-but I do-” Ford gave up and left, hearing him mutter something about ‘almost as bad as one of those darn teenagers’ on his way out.

_Maybe I need to get out more._

When he reached the clinic, it was to find a mostly empty waiting room (except for a man in the corner with a cage containing a sickly parrot) and a bored-looking woman in her forties at the front desk, reading a magazine.

He cleared his throat.

“Can I help you?” she asked without looking up. Her voice sounded like she’d been gargling with gravel.

“Um, do the doctors here make house calls?”

“Is the animal in question livestock?” She continued reading her magazine, _Gold Bracelets for Old Women_.

“No, but he’s a really big dog who’s been injured badly, and my car was-” _eaten by a tree giant_ \- “damaged. Beyond repair.”

At last the receptionist looked up at him, expression saying that she hated this job with every fiber of her being, and gave a world-weary sigh. “You’ll have to fill out the proper form.” With a fluid motion she produced a few sheets of paper, a clipboard and a pen.

“Thank you.” Ford accepted them, and set about filling out the form to the best of his ability.

Unfortunately, there were some questions he had to leave blank, such as the animal’s name and licence number and how the injuries were acquired, but after about ten minutes he returned the clipboard.

“We will contact you if and when we are able to make an appointment,” the receptionist grated out. “In the meantime, we have brochures that should answer any questions you might have about caring for your pet.” She pressed one into his hand.

Ford didn’t bother trying to explain things to her.

* * *

Eventually he found the pet store, where he purchased a large bag of dog food (and once again had to deal with the people who worked there thinking he was just a stranger passing through), and, on an impulse, a large chew bone. Then he found a store that sold games, where he picked up another Scrabble board, and finally made his way home. It wasn’t until he was already on the road to his house that he realized maybe he should have gotten some food for himself...but decided it would have been heavy for him to carry anyway, and he’d worry about that later.

The dog lifted his head when Ford came in the door, and his tail wagged in greeting.

“I visited the vet’s clinic,” he said, putting down his purchases in front of the pile of blankets. “Hopefully they’ll send someone to make sure I’m looking after you properly.”

The dog snorted a little, but laid back down and watched as Ford filled the bowl from earlier with some of the food he’d picked up.

“Here. You should eat.” He pushed the bowl forward. “You have a lot of strength to get back.”

The dog just gave him a steady look for a moment, and then leaned over to the Scrabble board, where he began forming words. Ford came over so he could see.

H-A-V-E Y-O-U E-A-T-E-N I-N A W-H-I-LE

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

He was given a stern glare.

“Really, I don’t need-”

The dog shoved the bowl away with one of his paws, and then laid his head on them, still glaring at Ford.

At last he sighed. “I don’t really have much in the house right now besides more hash.”

The eyebrows rose, and his muzzle gestured towards the kitchen pointedly.

“Fine…”

It wasn’t until he was sitting on the floor and eating the hash that the dog dug in. Something about this felt oddly and painfully familiar to Ford...but he forgot about it in favor of realizing that having food in his stomach actually felt surprisingly good right now.

“I realized that I should probably introduce myself,” he said at last. “My name is Stanford Pines-but if you want to you can call me Ford.” A second later he amended, “...Or at least think of me as Ford, until we figure out your curse and you actually have a voice.”

The dog nodded, licking crumbs from his lips.

“Do you remember what your name is?”

He tilted his head...and then shook it no.

Ford winced sympathetically. “That must make your situation all the harder, if the curse has taken away simple memories like that.” He chewed another spoonful of hash. “...Is there anything you’d like to be called?”

The dog shrugged.

Ford gave him a look that was a little irritated. “I just feel like it would be nice if I could call you something besides ‘hey, you.’ Even if it’s just...I dunno...Mr. Mystery, or-”

To his surprise, the dog’s tail thumped up and down, and his ears rose in a way that seemed happy.

“...That’s what you want me to call you?”

He nodded, and his tongue lolled from the corner of his mouth.

Ford decided it wasn’t worth arguing about. “All right. Mr. Mystery it is.”

* * *

Stan didn’t know why he liked that so much, but something about it just felt oddly...right.

_Mr. Mystery._

_Eh, I’ve had worse pseudonyms._

_Hey, I remembered one of those nerd words you taught me in high school, Poindexter._

The newly christened Mr. Mystery went back to eating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Presenting Gravity Falls's latest attraction: the Mystery Mutt!  
> Look at how weirdly intelligent he is! Watch him play Scrabble, and order around a grown man without even using words!  
> $200 to get your picture taken with him-300 if you want to pet him!  
> Step right up for this incredible opportunity, ladies and gentletourists!


	5. Flashback interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you are probably not gonna like me for this chapter and its heartbreaking content.  
> That's okay.  
> I deserve it.

When they were finished eating, Ford wiped his mouth on his sleeve and asked, “Are you from Gravity Falls?”

Mr. Mystery shook his head.

He felt an excited rush rise up in his chest. “Were you cursed here?”

Another shake.

Ford scooted forward, and then stretched out his legs because his feet had fallen asleep from being in the same position for so long. “Then this could be vitally important for my research. I-If it’s not too painful, would you mind telling me how you wound up on my porch?”

Mr. Mystery looked like he was bracing himself...but then he leaned forward and began rearranging the tiles.

* * *

_ Flashback flashback flashback flashback _

That first morning Stan had woken up in his new body, his reaction had been more or less...panic.

Sheer, unadulterated, mindless panic.

He’d gone tearing through the streets of the small Nevada town where he’d been (somewhat unsteadily, because he’d had trouble getting used to being on four legs), howling and barking and trying to plead for someone to help him.

Naturally, however, people just thought that he had rabies or something, and called the dogcatcher on him, so he’d been forced to run and hide.

He’d curled up in a dark alleyway, and had an enormous panic attack, before finally forcing himself to calm down a little.

Even when he’d stopped hyperventilating, though, his thoughts raced around and around, riddled with fear and horror:

_ What kind of sick person does this to someone else just for cheating at cards?! _

_ What kind of sick person does this to someone else, period?! _

_ How do I get outta this?! _

_ Help help help I need help I’m a dog and I can’t talk and nobody knows who I am and that stupid [CENSORED] wizard did this to me WHAT DO I DO _

If he’d had tear ducts, he would have sobbed like a child; as it was, he curled up in a ball, whining miserably.

When he’d finally mustered the energy to get up again, he’d stumbled back to his car-the only safe haven he had left-and tried to somehow get in. His keys and his clothes had both vanished, so he’d mostly gotten the idea of trying to smash in the back window, in hopes that he could curl up in the backseat. All that happened was that people heard the noise he was making and came to investigate, and his car was subsequently impounded.

After that...Stan didn’t remember much.

He’d wandered out into the desert in despair, uncaring where he wound up because now he had truly lost everything. Occasionally his will to live would spark enough for him to hunt down small lizards, or mice, or anything else he could snap up; and because it was winter time there’d been some rain so he wouldn’t die of thirst. But he spent most of his time just stumbling over his own paws as he walked, lost in an empty haze and lucky that he wasn’t attacked by coyotes or rattlesnakes since he would have been too despondent to put up much of a fight.

Every time he found a town, he’d wander into it and find whatever food he could, and even the occasional friendly or sympathetic person. Stan couldn’t help thinking that it was kind of sad people seemed to care more about him now that he was a homeless dog than they ever had when he was a homeless human.

Most of the kind ones were children whose mothers weren’t around to pull them away from the strange dog who might be carrying infectious diseases or try to bite; a few even tried to take him home, until the aforementioned mothers caught sight of him. Which was how Stan had been forced to evade animal control time and time again.

It seemed that even as a dog, he was still the equivalent of a hardened criminal; his only consolation was that at least this way he was no longer in danger of the police being able to find him.

And then one day he’d finally come to an area that was cold enough for snow, and he assumed that’s when he made it to Oregon.

The snow was a welcome relief; it felt better than the desert heat in his fur. He’d almost felt cheerful as he trudged through it, watching as the wind blew snow off of branches and herds of deer ate the bark off trees. He’d thought about seeing if he could take one down, but then he’d looked at the antlers on some of the stags and decided it would be safer to stick to smaller prey.

When he’d caught that squirrel, and killed it with a quick snap of its neck (he hated having to do this, but he had to eat somehow, and it seemed better to make sure his meals suffered as little as possible), an indignant voice had shrieked from the trees above him, “Hey! That was my chief bathing squirrel!”

And a tiny man in a little red hat had shimmied down to land on the nearest branch, glaring at him.

Stan gave him a bewildered stare...but then decided that screw it, this was the first full meal he’d managed to grab in months, he wasn’t gonna let some weird midget ruin it for him, and he’d simply picked up the squirrel in his mouth and gone to walk away.

“Oh no, you’re not just gonna get away with that! Gnomes of the forest, ASSEMBLE!!”

A minute later, he’d been surrounded by a whole group of the creatures-gnomes, apparently. They’d tackled him to the ground, trying to pin him down with ropes; while they struggled, the one with the shrieky voice proclaimed that now they had a new meal to last them through the winter.

And then Stan got mad.

He’d ripped himself free from his bonds, and started biting left and right, snatching gnomes up in his teeth and flinging them away like small, brightly colored footballs, even lashing out with his claws, and snarling with rage all the while.

_ I just want to  _ eat _! All I have left is my life, and I’m not lettin’ you take that from me because you’re hacked off that I killed your stupid bathing squirrel, whatever that means! Leave me ALONE! _

For once his temper had made something good happen to him; he’d finally gotten away, with the squirrel intact enough for him to get some meat in his gut. He’d even cracked the bones, trying to get some marrow out, eating everything that could possibly be edible. And for the first time in a while, he’d felt good about himself.

Unfortunately, he’d acquired fresh injuries in the fight, and the smell of blood was enough to attract what seemed like every predatory creature in the woods. He’d been chased by wiry hill men playing bluegrass music, a mountain lion the size of a tank, even something that looked like a snake and a badger morphed together, until at last he stumbled out of the woods and found himself looking at a big wooden house. And despite his recent bad experiences with humans and human dwellings, something about this one had just screamed ‘safety,’ so he staggered up onto the porch and collapsed.

The next time he’d woken up had been when Ford was dragging him inside.

_ End of flashback end of flashback end of flashback _

* * *

Of course, Stan didn’t tell Ford all of this. Just enough for him to understand the gist of it.

“Incredible,” Ford murmured, scrawling down the final details in his journal. “So, did you feel any sort of...tug? Like you were being drawn to this place, perhaps?”

Stan gave him a look.  _ I’ve barely been paying attention to anything besides where to get my next meal. If there was anything drawin’ me here, I didn’t notice. _

He shrugged, remembering that his brother wasn’t a mind-reader.

Ford looked disappointed, but continued. “If you did, it would help my theory that there’s something about this town which naturally attracts the strange and unusual. I don’t know what it is, much to my frustration, but if I can gather enough data to discover it, it could make me famous!”

Stan couldn’t help being a little amused; his brother’s eyes were shining with that enthusiasm for weirdness he remembered so well.

_ Sounds like you finally found a place where you fit in, Poindexter. You’re really living the dream. _

He ignored the ache that started up in his chest.

And then they both jumped when there was a knock at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow it's just so easy to torture Stan; he gives me a lot of material to work with.


	6. Attack of the manic pixie vet girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Marks is based on a character owned by hntrgurl13.

Ford opened the door and found a woman who looked to be a little older than he was standing on his porch.

This was less surprising than finding an unconscious dog standing on his porch under the circumstances, because he saw that she was wearing a long white doctor’s coat and carrying what looked like a medical bag. She had a long blonde ponytail with red streaks dyed into it, which looked a little odd compared to the rest of her professional attire, and catseye glasses that were the same color as the streaks.

“Are you Stanford Pines?” she asked, looking at him with polite curiosity.

“Yes. Can I help you?”

“I’m Dr. Marks, from the animal hospital. I saw you have a dog that needs looking after-whoa!” Her jaw dropped an inch, and the bag hit the porch with a thump. “You have fully functional polydactyly-on _both_ hands?! That is literally the coolest thing I’ve seen all day! Can I see?”

Ford automatically felt his cheeks flood with red. “Um-”

She was already grabbing his arm and examining his hand. “This is so neat! Normally people with an extra finger just have a little stub or something-did you know that people used to say Anne Boleyn had one, but nowadays they think it was just a-nasty rumor…”

Her voice trailed off, and she released Ford, blushing.

“Oh gosh, I-I’m so sorry, I-get over-excited sometimes and forget that-ugh, this is so embarrassing…”

Dr. Marks put her head in her hands. “I completely understand if you want me to just go away and never darken your door again.”

“N-no, that’s-usually people aren’t as comfortable with-um.” Ford gave up and moved out of the way. “Please, come in.”

The vet finally looked up, still red in the face. “He’s not dying, is he? That’s the only reason I can think of why you’d be letting me in after-that.”

“No, I just feel that his well-being is more important than a moment of minor embarrassment on my part.”

Sheepishly Dr. Marks picked up her bag and stepped inside-and it promptly crashed to the floor again as she let out a shocked squeal.

“Oh my gosh he’s so cuuuuute!!!!!”

Mr. Mystery scrambled backwards off the blankets with a startled bark; not surprising, since the woman’s enthusiastic squeal could probably be heard by every dog within a mile radius of the house.

Dr. Marks was instantly kneeling at his side, saying hurriedly, “No no no no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you! It’s okay, boy, I’m a doctor, I just got a little excited when I saw you and your adorable shaggy face!”

The dog sent Ford a pleading look over her shoulder that seemed to say, _Save me!_

Ford just smirked a little and folded his arms.

Despite her slight overexcitability, Dr. Marks was actually pretty efficient once she calmed down and got to business. She checked over his vitals and wounds, and gave him a few shots of antibiotics for the places that were still infected (she was surprised at Mr. Mystery’s handling those so well; she mentioned that most of the dogs she dealt with had to be held down), and eventually straightened up and asked Ford, “You just got this dog, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “I found him, actually. And, um, he just seems like he needs someone to look after him, and it’s not like there’s anyone else around. So-yes.”

“That is so sweet of you,” Dr. Marks beamed at him. Then, in a more efficient tone, she said, “He’s going to need his bandages changed on a regular basis-and not made too tight, that’ll ruin his blood flow-and don’t let him lick the wounds a lot because that’ll potentially create more infection. If you want, I can give you a collar to put on him that’ll stop him from doing that.”

 _Don’t you dare!_ Mr. Mystery threatened with his eyes.

“...I’ll keep that in mind,” Ford said, stifling a smile.

Dr. Marks rustled around in her bag, and pulled out two bottles that proved to be dog shampoo. “This should help get rid of any fleas or ticks he might have left on his body-and make sure you don’t get any on you, because deer ticks carry Lyme disease and I probably don’t have to tell you that that is _nasty_. Once he’s strong enough to walk, you should bring him in to town so I can give him a full check-up. And if you have anymore questions before then you can call me, Monday through Friday between nine and five.” A business card was flipped out of her pocket and into his hand before he knew what happened. “I will send you the bill! Bye, sweet thing!” She waved at Mr. Mystery.

And before they could blink twice she was gone.

* * *

“Well-that was...unique,” Ford said, running a hand through his hair.

Stan, who had started absentmindedly chewing the bone, smiled on the inside.

 _And she didn’t throw punch in your face-your ability to talk to women has improved_.

Ford cleared his throat, and went back to his journal.

“Do you mind listening to the rest of my research on weirdness magnetism? I find it sometimes helps if I can bounce my ideas off someone else.” He looked surprised at his own realization.

 _Yeah, I remember._ Stan used the Scrabble tiles to spell out, G-O A-H-E-A-D.

“Thanks.”

It was a full week before Stan was strong enough to walk for any length of time. He spent most of that time lying on the pile of blankets (a few times having to remind Ford to change them out and/or wash them), listening to his brother talk about his research and try to analyze Stan’s curse based on the information he gave him. To his eternal embarrassment, if he needed to use the bathroom Ford had to carry him outside (though he tried to say that he didn’t mind doing this, as it was part of his new exercise regimen, it didn’t make Stan feel any better); this only strengthened his resolve to get better as soon as possible.

Treatment would have taken longer except for the funny-smelling stuff Ford kept putting in his food. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he could tell it was helping to fix him up, so he wasn’t complaining.

Then, at last, the bandages were taken off, and Stan Pines was-he was still a dog. But he was at least a healthy, well-fed dog capable of standing on his own four legs, which was much better than he had been. And the first thing he found himself wanting to do was go for a walk.

Ford was sitting in his chair, reading over his notes with a cup of coffee at his elbow, when a length of rope was dropped into his lap.

He jumped, and looked up to see Stan staring at him expectantly.

“M? What the-what do you want me to do with this?”

Stan grabbed his sleeve in his teeth, and tugged.

“Wha-stop that!” Ford tugged himself free, and made no move to get up.

With an exasperated grunt Stan went over to the Scrabble board, shoving it into Ford’s line of vision, and picked out the letters W-A-L-K.

“You want me to let you out?”

Stan shook his head. Y-O-U H-A-V-E T-O C-O-M-E

Ford scoffed in annoyance. “Just don’t go too far away, if you’re worried about getting lost or whatever. I’m busy.”

Stan growled. L-E-A-S-H L-A-W. C-O-M-E O-N

His brother still looked unwilling, so at last Stan decided to use a word that created a bit of a burning sensation in his gut, but had occasionally gotten him good results.

P-L-E-A-S-E

To his surprise, it worked. Ford set aside the journal with a sigh, and picked up the rope.

“Okay, fine. Probably a good idea for me to go out anyway.”

Stan wagged his tail and pushed his nose against his knee.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now hold still while I figure out how to tie this in a way that won’t accidentally choke you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Ford, but Stan's not going to allow you to continue being an antisocial shut-in. You must go out and interact with other members of your species.


	7. Mr. Mystery: kid magnet

Eventually Ford fashioned the rope into a makeshift harness that wrapped around Mr. Mystery’s chest and front legs and tied in the back, leaving the rest for him to hold on to. Then, after some consideration, he got a longer rope to be the leash part so Mr. Mystery could have more room to run ahead if he wanted.

“Just try to act like you’re a trained dog, would you?” he asked as they stepped out onto the porch and he paused to lock the door. “I don’t want to go chasing you all over the place. And don’t you roll your eyes at me-I mean it.”

_ Great, now I sound like my mother. _

No sooner were the keys back in his pocket as they went down the steps, however, that Mr. Mystery took off running.

In hindsight it occurred to Ford that maybe the dog was a little stir-crazy from being cooped up in the house for so long, and desperately needed to stretch his legs, and he should have been prepared for that. At the time, though, he was just alarmed by the fact that he was being towed at what felt like maximum speed by a 150-pound juggernaut, and it was all he could do not to trip over his own feet and just get dragged along in the dirt, and it felt like his arm was about to get torn right out of its socket.

“Whoa! Whoooooaaaaaaa!!!!” he hollered, struggling to keep his grip on the makeshift leash and a voice in the back of his head whispering that that only works for horses, knucklehead. “Slooooooow doooooowwwwwwn!!!!!!!!”

But Mr. Mystery continued surging down the road, splashing through mud puddles, churning up dirt with his massive paws, and occasionally letting out a loud bark of excitement.

_ “Hey, wait up!” _

_ “You should keep up, Sixer!” _

_ “I-I can keep up!” _

Deja vu was a most inconvenient companion at times, Ford thought-just in time to get splattered in the face with a pawful of mud.

They only came to a stop at the edge of town, both of them panting and heaving. Mr. Mystery lunged over to a puddle and lapped at it thirstily for a moment, and then looked up sheepishly at Ford, who was taking the opportunity to at last clean off his face.

Ford folded his arms and gave him a disapproving frown.

“What did I say about acting trained?”

Mr. Mystery’s ears drooped, and after a moment he used one paw to trace a squiggle in the dirt. Then a messily-scrawled circle. It was when he was trying to make an R that Ford got what he was saying, and sighed.

“I get it, you were a little excited. But is it out of your system now?”

Mr. Mystery nodded.

“Good. Now, why did you come this way? There’s plenty of better places to walk in the forest.”

At the mention of the forest, Mr. Mystery growled a little, and then twisted around, pointing with his nose towards the shopping area of town.

Ford took the hint. “Fine, I suppose I can get more coffee-”

A louder, more insistent growl.

“...I’ll get groceries.”

Mr. Mystery wagged his tail, which smacked against Ford’s legs.

* * *

Stan couldn’t help himself. There were just so many  _ smells _ out here! He’d known dogs had a good sense of smell, but he hadn’t realized how much  _ stronger _ scents became, and how great chasing after them felt-it was the equivalent of getting a briefcase full of money, kind of!

Even smells that weren’t great, like engine fuel and other animals’ crap, were somehow interesting to his nose. Though at least he had enough human dignity left to not want to roll around in everything that had a scent, he was relieved to notice.

When they got to a grocery store, Ford said uncertainly, “I’m not sure dogs are allowed in here.”

_ You got dark glasses? Maybe you can pretend I’m your seeing-eye dog or something. _

Stan was trying to figure out a way to express this idea, when Ford tied the rope to a bike rack outside the front doors. “Just-stay here, okay? And try not to get in trouble.”

_ Yes sir, Poindexter. _ Stan managed to lift one of his paws high enough to give the equivalent of a sarcastic salute.

Ford rolled his eyes at him and headed inside.

Since the day was starting to warm up a little, Stan decided to just stretch out on the sidewalk and maybe take a nap.

Huh; he hadn’t realized how nice sun-warmed cement could feel. Maybe it was just different because he had fur, or because he was shaped differently. He let out a sigh, bringing more smells to his nose.

Processed meat…

Bread…

Something with a sharp taste-mustard, maybe?

A sticky kind of smell that he thought was sugar…

Sweat...

Anger…

Hormones…

_ Wait a minute _ .

A high-pitched voice from in front of him suddenly screamed, “BEAR! BEAR!”

Stan lunged to his feet, trying to figure out where the bear was, because he had had more than  _ enough _ incidents with the wild animals of this crazy town, thank you very much, and if one more thing tried to attack him, so help me-

“That’s not a bear, Rose, it’s just a big dog,” said a bored-sounding voice.

Stan saw two girls on the sidewalk-one a teenager holding a hot dog, one between six and eight years old hiding behind her legs.

It took him a moment to realize that the younger one, obviously the source of the sticky sugar scent, was the one who’d been yelling about bears. His blood pressure slowly went down, and he sat, feeling the fur on his back settling.

The little girl, Rose, was still hiding behind the one he was guessing was her sister. “I don’t like it! He’s too big to be a dog!”

“Why would anyone tie up a bear outside a grocery store?” The older girl took a big bite out of her hot dog. “Use your head, you goof.”

Stan decided to help her out; he tilted his head, and thumped his tail against the ground a few times.

Rose stopped sniffling, and peered around at him again. He questioned whether or not he should try to smile, or if she would freak out over the size of his teeth-but before he could decide, the older sister said, “Look, I’ll show you.” And she broke off a chunk of her hot dog and knelt, holding it out to him.

Stan very gently lifted it out of her hand, and gulped it down. Oh man, meat tasted even better than usual when you were a dog; even the sting of the mustard, which wasn’t as good now, wasn’t enough to dissuade him from finishing it off. This time he wasn’t able to stop himself from smiling at them, and allowing his tongue to loll out of the corner of his mouth.

The facade of being an eternally-bored teenager cracked, and the girl smiled.

“See, he’s perfectly friendly.”

Rose stepped forward hesitantly, and Stan sniffed at her hands. Yup, that was definitely sugar. Maybe she’d been eating cotton candy or something. Whatever it was, he couldn’t help lapping at it.

The little girl giggled. “He likes me!”

Before long the two girls were completely involved in petting him and scratching his ears, and part of Stan knew he should find this demeaning but it just felt so  _ good _ , having someone fawning over him like this. He licked away every last bit of sugar syrup from Rose’s hands, and her sister fed him the last bits of her hot dog, and by the time Ford came out, trying to juggle three sacks of groceries, he was almost entirely blissed out.

“Um-excuse me-” his brother started.

The older girl saw him, and quickly stood up. “Oh, is this your dog? We found him out here and thought he needed a little attention.”

“Yes, he’s mine.” Ford set down the groceries and began untying the rope.

“If you need a better harness, there’s a pet store down the street-”

“Yes, I know where it is, I live here.” Stan raised an eyebrow at the obvious irritation in his brother’s voice.

“Ohhhh, you’re that reclusive scientist guy, aren’t you?”

Ford gave her a look. “Reclusive scientist guy?”

“Yeah, my boyfriend’s told me about you. He helped build your house, and says you like chasing pixies or whatever.”

A muscle in Ford’s cheek twitched. “I take it your boyfriend is Boyish Dan?”

She giggled. “Don’t let him hear you call him that.” And then she held out her hand. “I’m Matilda. And this is my sister Rose.”

“Hi!” Rose waved, and went back to petting Stan.

Ford hesitated, and then shook. “Stanford Pines.”

“Great name for a guy who lives in the forest.” Matilda giggled, and then picked up one of the grocery bags. “Here, let me help you with that.”

“I-I don’t need-”

“Dude, you’re trying to balance carrying these and walking a dog. You’re probably gonna drop everything if you do that.”

“But-I live-”

“It’s okay, we go on long walks all the time, we can handle it.” For a skinny girl, she seemed remarkably strong, hoisting the grocery bag onto her shoulder like it was nothing.

Ford gave up protesting, and picked up the other bags, hoisting one onto his hip so he could grab Stan’s leash.

* * *

“What’s your dog’s name?” Rose asked as they headed back to the cabin. She seemed to see no reason to stop petting Stan even as they walked.

“Mr. Mystery,” Ford said shortly.

“...What’s the mystery?”

“Where he came from, I suppose. And what he was doing before I found him.”

_ Trust me _ , Stan thought,  _ you don’t wanna know the answer ta that. _

“How come we’ve never seen you in town before?” Rose asked.

“Most likely because we’ve never been in the same proximity. I do go there every time I need groceries or other supplies.”

“...The same what?”

“He means general area,” Matilda told her sister.

“Oh.” She chewed her lip for a moment, before asking, “When I get big will I get extra fingers too?”

“Rose!” Matilda swatted her lightly. She gave Ford an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, she wasn’t-”

“It’s fine. I highly doubt that you will develop extra fingers; it’s not very common.”

She kicked the ground with the toe of her shoe. “Darn. I betya make good shadow puppets.”

Ford seemed surprised but pleased to once again meet someone who wasn’t discomfited by his unique hands. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Rose grinned, showing off an endearing gap between her front teeth. “Can I see?”

“Perhaps another time,” Ford said as they finally reached the house. “I’m sure you two need to get home.”

Matilda looked down at her watch, and started to say something that Stan bet was a curse, barely stopping herself at the last second. “You’re right, Mom’s probably got lunch ready by now. Come on.” She grabbed Rose’s shoulder while setting the grocery bag on the step in one fluid motion. “See you around, mister.”

“Bye, Mr. Mystery!” Rose called to Stan, waving as she was dragged away back down the road.

Stan wagged his tail after them.

_ Nice kids. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dogs just have a way of bringing people together, I guess.  
> And it's good to make friends even if there's significant age gaps between you.
> 
> ...Yeah, this chapter is kind of filler, I admit it.


	8. Mr. Mystery: Nerd Guardian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how much things cost in the late 1970s.
> 
> Also, quick survey: how many of you want me to include Bill in this story? Because my original idea was for things to go in such a way that Ford never actually ends up summoning him, but on the other hand that would create an interesting scenario because Bill would undoubtedly know who Stan really was, leading to extra drama.
> 
> Any thoughts?

Mr. Mystery made it clear that he would only go for walks into town; he refused to go anywhere near the forest. Having been told his story of his time in there, Ford wasn’t too surprised, so for the time being he would explore them by himself and let the dog watch the house while he was gone. Then whenever he came back from chasing eye-bats or spying on gnomes he’d share his findings with his partner over food, before taking him for his walk (which often turned into a bit of a jog). Usually this would be canned soup or something else in a can that could be opened by pulling on a tab; with some practice Mr. Mystery became surprisingly adept at this, and even at operating the controls on the stove so it could be heated up. He was also working on learning to make sandwiches without too many teeth marks in them. So far his efforts were less than effective, but Ford was impressed with his tenacity. In addition, the big dog did the best he could to keep the house clean and somewhat organized, something that the scientist had admittedly let slide while he was living here by himself. There was only so much he could do without hands, but his size made reaching high shelves to put stuff away easy at least, even if his weight also meant he had to be careful not to break the shelves if he leaned on them.

Ford continued his research into curses that changed people into animals, looking for something that could help his friend. He brought home water from an enchanted healing fountain that did nothing but fix up a few of the scratches left on his body, magic mushrooms that just changed his fur bright blue for an hour, and a special potion he acquired from a fairy shaman that was supposed to restore things you had lost.

When Mr. Mystery finished drinking it, he waited for a minute, and then stumbled back with a startled yelp.

“Is it working?” Ford asked eagerly, leaning towards him.

Mr. Mystery blinked a few times...then gave a disappointed huff and leaned down to the Scrabble board.

N-O B-U-T I G-O-T M-Y C-O-L-O-R V-I-S-I-O-N B-A-C-K

“You were seeing in black and white this whole time?!”

Mr. Mystery gave him his ‘you’re missing the point here’ glare.

“Sorry, sorry-I just didn’t think about it earlier, but it makes a lot of sense in hindsight-”

N-O-T B-L-A-C-K A-N-D W-H-I-T-E M-O-S-T-L-Y B-L-U-E Y-E-L-L-O-W A-N-D G-R-A-Y

“Interesting…” Ford hurried upstairs, and came back bearing an armful of shirts. He picked one and brandished it at the dog. “What color’s this one?”

Mr. Mystery rolled his eyes. R-E-D

“Good! How about this one?” He held up another.

G-R-E-E-N

When Ford tried to select a new one, however, Mr. Mystery let out a very annoyed growl, and then marched forward and grabbed its sleeve in his teeth.

“Hey!” Ford dropped the other shirts in a heap on the floor and tried to pull this one loose. Mr. Mystery only pulled harder, shaking his head from side to side and growling.

“No-let go!” Ford pulled back the other way, but it was like his opponent’s jaws had turned to steel.

For two minutes they struggled back and forth, each one trying to get the upper hand (or paw); at last, though, Ford allowed his brains to override his competitive nature, and, realizing there was no way he was ever going to beat Mr. Mystery physically, finally settled for pulling the shirt as taut as he could-and then letting go.

The dog landed flat on his back with a surprised bark, and for a moment lay there in a daze, paws up in the air.

Ford leaned down to grab his shirt with a smirk.

“I win-”

Only for Mr. Mystery to tackle him to the floor.

To Ford’s relief, he didn’t seem angry over their game; his tail was wagging crazily, and even though his paws were heavy on his chest, he was smiling down at him, like he hadn’t had that much fun in ages.

“Okay, okay, point to you,” Ford admitted, smiling a little himself.

Mr. Mystery smiled wider, and leaned down to give his face several hearty licks.

Then he realized what he’d done...and suddenly stopped smiling.

* * *

_OH UGH I JUST BASICALLY KISSED MY BROTHER OH GROSS I JUST HOPE NONE OF THAT GOT IN HIS MOUTH UGGGGHHHH_

“...I feel like I should be offended by this,” Ford said dryly, as he watched Stan attempting to scrub his tongue in his water dish.

 _You’re lucky you don’t understand, Sixer!_ Stan thought with a shudder, before going back to pouring as much water onto his tongue as he could.

Despite the unfortunate way in which their little game had ended, Stan was feeling oddly happy. It was the first time they’d interacted in a way that wasn’t revolved around nursing him back to health or household chores or going for a walk; even as Ford finally produced the rope and started winding it around him again his tail was still wagging.

“I think we ought to get you a real harness and leash today,” Ford said, giving the rope a critical stare. “This is getting a little frayed in places.”

_Think they’d have one my size in a hick town like this?_

Ford, of course, didn’t hear the question; he just finished tying the main knot, and then they were heading out the door.

They made their way downtown to the pet store; unlike the rest of town, this place allowed pets (well duh), so Ford brought Stan in with him, and headed over to the area where leashes were kept.

Eventually they found a bright red harness that was a little tight around the chest, but that might have been mainly due to the length and thickness of Stan’s fur; it would do for now. Stan picked a matching leash, thinking wistfully of how the color (it was so _great_ being able to see those again! He hadn’t realized how much he missed them) reminded him of the Stanley Mobile, and then they went to the cash register to pay for their purchases.

The guy at the register was a chubby, pimply teenager who smelled like he really wanted to be around the back of the building getting stoned right now; the scent on his clothes was a lot more disgusting when you were a dog.

“Uhhh, that’ll be ten dollars, please,” he said, scratching at his greasy hair with one hand.

Ford pulled out his wallet and produced the cash; when he did, the teen’s eyes widened.

“Whoa, what happened to your hands?”

Ford’s shoulders tightened in a way that was painfully familiar. “Nothing; they’ve always looked like this.”

He laughed a little. “Whoa, that’s kinda freaky.”

Maybe he didn’t mean it quite the way it sounded. After all, he was just a dumb stoner kid who probably hadn’t been taught better. But that word was something Stan had been forced to hear people call Ford all his life, and his response to it was an almost Pavlovian fact of life: sharks gotta swim, bats gotta fly, and Stan’s gotta protect his nerdy brother from jerks who make fun of his hands.

Within seconds two massive paws were slammed onto the countertop, and the twerp was getting a frontal view of very large, sharp teeth and hearing a deep, warning growl that was probably making every primal instinct in his body want to scramble for the nearest tree.

He squealed like a frightened pig, leaping back far enough that he slammed into the wall.

Stan felt Ford’s hands grabbing onto his neck fur and trying to pull him back, could kind of hear his voice ordering him to knock it off through the haze of rage-even so, he uttered a few vicious barks at the twerp before finally allowing himself to be pulled back and forced to the ground.

“I-I’m so sorry!” Ford quickly apologized, glaring at Stan and then turning back, “He just thought you were threatening me, he’s-he’s a very well-trained guard dog!”

_Wow, try and sound a little less convincing, he might believe you otherwise._

Ford pulled another five-dollar bill out of his wallet, adding it to the cash in his palm. “Here, let me pay you a little extra for your trouble.”

Stan glared at the teen over Ford’s shoulder, and gave his head an emphatic shake no. The teen blanched, and said quickly, “N-n-n-no, that’s okay! You can have it-on the house!” He gave Stan a nervous glance; he nodded his approval.

_Good choice._

Ford turned and gave him a suspicious look. Stan just lifted his ears innocently, and tilted his head at him. His brother narrowed his eyes and turned back to the cashier.

“That’s really not necessary, I can afford-”

“I-it’s fine! It’s, um, give a customer with a big dog a free purchase day!”

Despite Ford’s best arguments, they ended up leaving with a free harness and leash. As Ford was opening the door of the pet shop, Stan turned and somewhat awkwardly lifted a paw to his eyes, before pointing it at the twerp in the universal "I'm watching you" gesture.

The kid shrank behind his cash register.

* * *

“You’re lucky if he doesn’t call the police on us,” Ford growled at him as they headed back towards home. “That was completely unnecessary, M!”

 _You’re welcome_ , Stan thought sourly, glaring up at him.

For a few minutes they walked in sulky silence. Then Ford at last said, “...But I appreciate the sentiments. Thank you.”

Stan sighed, and nudged his leg with his head. _Just tryna look out for you, Sixer._

Ford laughed a little. “I kind of wish I’d had you around when I was a kid. A big dog would’ve been great for protecting me from bullies.”

Stan’s irritation came flooding back, along with something more bitter. _Wh-what was I, chopped liver? I spent our entire childhood trying to protect you from-_

Then Ford’s smile faded. “I mean, there was my brother, but...well.” He looked ahead for a moment, and sighed. Then he looked back down at Stan. “...It’s complicated.”

After a moment Stan nudged his leg again, unsure of how else to react to that. He could feel that warming-and-shattering sensation in his heart again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And somehow, I just know some people are still gonna try to tag this as Stancest.  
> Please, please don't.


	9. Make new friends (but keep the dog)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few small vignettes about Ford interacting more with the people in town-and avoiding interacting with others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the coronavirus sucks.  
> Mainly because everything is basically in quarantine.  
> It makes the fact that it’s also Friday the 13th oddly fitting.  
> On the other hand, I guess, it gives me a chance to work on this, so...yay?

**_March 10_ **

**_M is doing much better, thankfully, but still appears to have few memories of his life as a human. I would question how he knows he was ever truly human at all, except that he does remember a few things, like having hands (he is particularly frustrated by this one every time he has to open cans)._ **

**_He described the rings of the wizard who cursed him, and one of them bears a striking resemblance to the amulet I discovered earlier in January-perhaps they were created from the same material? When I showed it to M, he began snarling and bristling all over until I put it away; he said that it definitely looks like the wizard’s ring. He also said that it smells bad (the way he described it was “like rancid cabbage”) and I should destroy it immediately._ **

**_At first I was appalled; this amulet, corrupting though it might be, was of great importance to my research! Why couldn’t I just bury it somewhere no one would ever find it, or keep it locked away in my basement?_ **

**_To my mortification, M had the perfect counterargument: he went to the bookshelf, grabbed my copy of_ ** **Fellowship of the Ring** **_, and dropped it into my lap._ **

**_Suitably chastened, I have smashed the amulet (it was surprisingly fragile). When I did, an evil green skull-shaped glow appeared briefly in the air. I may have dodged a bullet, thanks to M._ **

~~**_It’s been a long time since I had a friend like him_ ** ~~

* * *

Eventually Ford remembered to take Mr. Mystery in for a complete checkup at the vet’s.

The bored-looking receptionist barely raised an eyebrow when they came in, telling them to just take a seat, as the doctor was in the middle of an important operation. Ford had to spend twenty minutes in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room with the dog lounging at his feet before they were called back.

Dr. Marks enthusiastically greeted both of them as she peeled off a pair of long, slightly bloodstained gloves, and right away got to work examining Mr. Mystery.

“Wow, you’re looking a  _ lot _ better than you were when I last saw you!” she praised the dog, lifting his lip and examining his gums and teeth. “Even better than I was expecting-did you give him some kind of miracle cure or something?”

It took Ford a moment to realize that the question was directed towards him. “Um-I, um, may have found some herbs in the forest that helped.”

“Oh yeah?” Having finished her examination of Mr. Mystery’s teeth, she checked the insides of his ears. “It wasn’t too close to the fairy grove, was it? Some of them are kind of picky about who they allow to take things.”

“No, it was closer to the gno-” Ford blinked. “Wait, you know about the fairies?”

Dr. Marks tucked a lock of loose hair behind her ear. “Oh yeah, I’ve seen all kinds of weird things in this town. One time the gnomes tried to propose to me-and not even just one of them, they said I was gonna be married to all one hundred. I scared them off with my hair dryer, but I think something with a stronger blast would work better.” She said all this while continuing her work.

For a second Ford could do nothing but process this; then he said excitedly, “This is all part of my work-I’m researching the anomalies of Gravity Falls, trying to figure out where they’ve all come from!”

“Really? That is so cool!” Dr. Marks finished listening to Mr. Mystery’s heartbeat and breathing, and hung her stethoscope around her neck. “I’ve-I’ve actually taken a few notes on some of the stuff I’ve seen, if you’d like to take a look. It’s probably not as great as what you’ve found out, but-”

“No, that would be great!”

Dr. Marks grinned. “Great! Hold that thought-you have a clean bill of health, by the way, Mr. Mystery, but you really should get groomed more often.” She gave Ford a rebuking stare. “When was the last time you brushed him?”

“...Brushed?”

The rebuke deepened. “You need to brush him every few days, Mr. Pines.  _ And _ trim his nails,  _ and _ brush his teeth. Hold on, I have some spare stuff in my bag, I’ll grab that for you when I get my notes.” And she hurried into her office before he could correct her that it was actually “Dr.” Pines.

It took Ford a moment to notice the smile Mr. Mystery was giving him.

“Oh, shut up.”

* * *

There was a knock on Ford’s door one Saturday afternoon.

He hadn’t been expecting any visitors, so he opened it with a mixture of confusion and trepidation-and found that little girl from town-Rose, that was her name-standing on his doorstep, wearing clothes that looked a little too thin and insufficient for the still-chilly weather.

For a moment they stared at each other, nonplussed. Then she cleared her throat and asked, “Can Mr. Mystery come out to play?”

“Um-what-” Ford spluttered a little, and then asked, “Where’s your sister?”

“She’s at the movies with Dan.” Rose rolled her eyes. “Bein’ all mushy-mushy, probably.”

“...What about your parents?”   
“Mom’s doing a double shift. And Dad’s sleeping on the couch. Is Mr.-”

“You came down here all by yourself?” Habit of going on long walks or not, this was a very out-of-the-way place for a child her age to come alone.

Another eyeroll. “No, my invisible nanny came with me.”

Ford was 95% sure that was sarcasm.

He folded his arms and gave her a stern glare.

“Look, I really don’t think-”

“I’m not gonna bother you while you’re working, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just wanna play with your dog in the yard or something so I don’t have to be home when Dad wakes-”

Her little mouth snapped shut, and she was suddenly very interested in her muddy boots.

_...Oh. _

_ That almost makes it sound-oh. _

It was none of his business, but Ford found himself stepping aside so she could come in, and asking, “How long does he sleep?”

“Most of the day, usually, when he drinks enough of his smoothies,” Rose said, coming in and kicking off her boots, “but if he does wake up he’s always really cranky...” She trailed off, looking with wide brown eyes at the numerous bizarre items that were spread across a table in the living room: some rainbow-colored ferns Ford had discovered, the new journal he was putting together for when he filled up the first one, and a severed hand with a candle stuck in the middle, and several wires and a mini generator connected up to it, to name a few. Mr. Mystery was keeping an eye on the severed hand, making sure sparks didn’t go flying everywhere. He looked over at them, and wagged his tail when he saw Rose.

“...This is even cooler than the arcade,” Rose whispered.

“...You can help us with our inventory, if you want,” Ford said. This stuff was all safe for children to be around, probably.

She nodded eagerly, and followed him to the table, perching on the chair closest to Mr. Mystery so she could scratch his head right between his ears.

“Does your sister know you came here?” Ford remembered to ask.

Rose shrugged. “I left a note in our room. She’ll figure it out.”

It did occur to him not to let Rose touch the hand of glory, in case it actually  _ was _ cursed, but she proved to be surprisingly good at organizing everything else and putting it in the boxes he’d set up. She asked him about what everything was, and where he’d found it, and helped him come up with some amusing possible names for the different flora. An entire hour went by before there was a frantic pounding at the door, which then burst open before Ford could even get out of his chair, revealing a very irate Matilda, and the lumbering form of her boyfriend, Dan.

“Rose, what did I tell you about going out by yourself?!” Matilda demanded, stomping towards her sister.

“I’m not by myself!” Rose protested, hiding behind Mr. Mystery. “I’m with Dr. Pines and his dog!”

“You know dam-darn well what I meant! You were supposed to stay home!” She leaned over and tried to grab her sister’s wrist, but Rose just dodged her grasp. “You come here-Mom is gonna  _ freak _ if-”

“We’re sorry about this, doc,” Dan rumbled apologetically. “”I hope she didn’t bother you.”

“No, she was actually quite helpful,” Ford assured him. “If-if she wants to come visit again, I don’t mind.”

Matilda let out an annoyed huff, even as she finally grabbed Rose and dragged her out of hiding. Then, suddenly, her expression transitioned from angry to thoughtful. “You wouldn’t mind babysitting her once in a while?”

“I’m too old to need a babysitter!” Rose protested.

“That’s debatable,” Matilda deadpanned back at her. She looked back at Ford. “During the weekends there’s times when Dan and I need a little alone time, but Mom’s usually working, and...and we need someone to watch this little monster. I know you’re really busy with your science stuff, but-”

“I would not mind at all.”  _ As long as she continued to be as helpful as she was today. _ Besides, Ford realized, it was kind of nice to have another human voice around to talk to. Not that he didn’t like talking to Mr. Mystery, of course not, but...it made communication a little easier.

Matilda chewed her lip...and said at last, “I’ll talk about it with Mom.” She began towing her sister to the door. Rose waved at them as they went out.

Dan hesitated in the doorway. “House holdin’ up okay?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s very sturdy, thank you.”

He grinned, and patted the doorframe. “Good.” Then he hurried after his girlfriend.

* * *

Stan had resisted the idea at first; he’d growled and grumbled and tried to push back the waves of queasiness in his stomach at the thought of going anywhere near the forest. But Ford was going on an overnight hiking trip up into the mountains to check out some weird cave paintings he’d heard about, and that meant he’d be alone in the forest, where all the creatures that had attacked Stan lived, and he hated the idea of them attacking his brother even more than he hated the idea of them coming after him again. So he’d swallowed down his unease, brought Ford his harness and leash, and growled sternly when he tried to argue.

_ This is soooo freaky, _ Stan thought, glaring up at the painting.  _ It’s like those people are all  _ worshipping _ the triangle or something. _

Just looking at it was making his fur stand on end.

“Incredible!” Ford whispered, adjusting his glasses and staring at the inscription (which made no sense at all to Stan, but apparently his brother understood it). “It says here that this is a being with answers! Maybe he can help me to find out the answer to Gravity Falls’s law of weirdness magnetism! Everything will make sense! And all I have to do is read this inscription here-”

He looked closer at it, and was just opening his mouth-when he was interrupted by a sharp bark.

Stan was sniffing around the bottom part of the painting, where another message was scrawled, in a disturbing, red-colored substance that he could smell was definitely not paint.

Ford looked down at it, and held the lantern closer. “‘Never read this aloud, I beg of you!’” he translated. “‘The price is far greater than the reward!’”

Stan growled in agreement with whoever had written that. He didn’t know why, but everything about this creepy room felt wrong to him. He couldn’t wait to get outside into the fresh air, as far away from this thing as possible.

Ford frowned. “It’s-probably just an exaggeration.” He was looking towards the inscription again-but was interrupted by an even angrier growl.

_ What part of ‘never read this aloud’ do you not understand, knucklehead?! This thing is obviously bad for you! _

Ford hesitated, looking back and forth between the painting and the dog...but at last he sighed.

“Maybe you’re right. You were right about that amulet, after all, and animals often have better instincts for danger than humans do.”

With another disappointed sigh, he turned away from the painting. Stan gave his hand a comforting lick, less bothered by the grossness this time.

_ Sorry, Poindexter. Guess this was a dead end in your research after all. _

To his surprise and delight, Ford scratched his head and the back of his neck as they turned and left the cavern.

* * *

_ Far away, in another dimension, a being made of pure energy felt a pang of unexpected...disappointment. _

_ Like he’d just lost the chance to be invited into another world by some dumb sucker. _

_ But then his one eye curved into a smug smile as, from another part of the multiverse, someone else read the incantation that would summon him. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ford and Stan both have secret parenting instincts; the world can fight me on this if it dares.
> 
> Also, sorry Bill, but-  
> *Picks him up by the top of his head*  
> "Wait, wait a minute, let's talk about this like reasonable-"  
> *Drop-kicks him out of the story*  
> "ADULTTTTSSSSSS!!!!!"
> 
> You don't belong in here, you three-sided freak. Get lost.
> 
> (Is it sad that Ford trusts the instincts of an animal over those of a human?  
> Yes. Yes it is.)


	10. Domestic life was never quite Ford's style...until now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not completely happy with how this chapter turned out, but it'll do for now.

Mr. Mystery had become very fast at using the Scrabble letters to form words. Out of idle curiosity Ford began timing him during their conversations, and noticed that his ability had improved by at least seventy percent after a month of living with him. He was impressed.

He was even more impressed one morning when he came downstairs, and found Mr. Mystery sitting with the newspaper open in front of him on one side, the dictionary on the other, and doing the crossword puzzle by recreating the pattern with the Scrabble tiles. Once in a while he’d grab a pencil and use it to turn the dictionary pages, making little frustrated grunts if he couldn’t do it fast enough, and scan the pages until he found the word he was looking for. Since the dog was still in the early stages of the puzzle, Ford took the opportunity to grab his journal and pen, and start drawing him.

Mr. Mystery didn’t notice his presence until he clicked his pen shut ten minutes later; when he did, the dog startled, and glanced over his shoulder at him. His ears folded against his head, and one of his front legs shot out self-consciously to cover everything up even though it was far too late for that.

Ford laughed a little-but stopped when Mr. Mystery’s obvious chagrin deepened. “No, sorry, I’m not trying to-please, don’t let me stop you.”

If he hadn’t been covered in fur, Mr. Mystery would probably have been bright red. As it was, he turned back to his work, hunching until his shoulders were at a level with his ears.

Ford came and looked over his shoulder anyway, giving an approving nod.

“You’re good at this.”

Mr. Mystery’s tail thumped a little, and some of the hunched-ness went out of his shoulders. He picked up some of his spare tiles, and used them to spell out, T-R-Y-I-N-G N-O-T T-O F-O-R-G-E-T.

“...Forget what?”

H-O-W T-O B-E H-U-M-A-N

In hindsight, that should have been obvious. Ford’s heart felt unexpectedly squeezed in his chest. He swallowed.

“...Is-does that seem like it’s happening to you?”

Mr. Mystery shrugged. D-U-N-N-O B-U-T N-O-T W-O-R-T-H N-O-T D-O-I-N-G I-T

He looked at his remaining letters, realizing with evident dismay that he would need to use some of the ones from his puzzle to keep talking.

“It’s okay,” Ford hurriedly reassured him, “go ahead and finish that. I’ll get breakfast.”

He headed for the kitchen-where he found slightly-chewed toast and cereal already laid out for him. A jar of blackberry jam (looking a little like Mr. Mystery had tried and failed to untwist the lid with his teeth) and a knife were next to his plate, along with the milk jug and a spoon.

A fond smile touched Ford’s mouth before he came over and helped himself.

When he came back, the puzzle was done, and Mr. Mystery was taking a moment to enjoy it.

Ford sat down on the floor next to him, cross-legged.

“Thank you, that was delicious.”

The tail thumped again, more vigorously.

“It helps that you picked up the bread by a small corner, so I didn’t have to get infected with your gross dog germs.”

Mr. Mystery growled, but it was his slightly more playful-annoyed growl, rather than a genuinely annoyed one. Ford just grinned at him until he gave one of his wide doggy grins back.

After a moment, Mr. Mystery leaned down and continued from earlier.

S-O-M-E-T-I-M-E-S I F-E-E-L M-O-R-E L-I-K-E A D-O-G T-H-A-N A H-U-M-A-N. D-O-I-N-G T-H-I-S H-E-L-P-S

Ford shivered. “That must be terrifying.” He certainly knew that if he were trapped in another form, and started to forget who he was...it didn’t bear thinking about.

Mr. Mystery made an indifferent-sounding snort through his nose. I-M F-I-N-E

“It’s okay to admit it if you’re scared. I know I would be.”

Mr. Mystery looked away uncomfortably, ears drooping again. He looked so dejected that, without even thinking about it, Ford did something he hadn’t done to anyone in years: he reached out one arm and wrapped it around his back, pulling him against him. As soon as he realized what he’d done, he froze and half-expected to have his arm bitten off at the socket-but instead, Mr. Mystery leaned against him, letting out a small whine.

“We’ll figure this out,” he whispered, “I promise.”

I K-N-O-W- Mr. Mystery took a second to find the tile he wanted- D-U-M-M-Y

“Hey!” Ford shoved him playfully, and the dog retaliated by knocking him to the floor and laying down across his stomach until he surrendered.

It distracted Ford from something funny that he’d noticed; for a moment, he could have sworn Mr. Mystery was about to pick up the K tile lying next to the D…

* * *

After that unexpected hug, it was like a wall that had been standing between them came down. Ford would find himself rubbing Mr. Mystery’s head absentmindedly while writing in his journal, or using him as a pillow if he decided to hog the sofa, or even taking time out in the evening to just wrestle around or play tug-of-war. He also used the brush Dr. Marks gave him to brush Mr. Mystery out on the front porch every few days, which did wonders for lessening the piles of dog hair that accumulated around the house otherwise (if he was still a dog by the time summer rolled around, Ford planned on shaving him once a week at _least_ , whether he liked it or not). While he did this he would read from his journal, or from one of his other books. Not the ones that were too math or science-based, though; those tended to put Mr. Mystery to sleep in a matter of minutes. He had tested this multiple times, and in five minutes or less the dog would always be snoring.

_Some people just have no appreciation for interesting reading, I guess._

When they weren’t playing or recording Ford’s research, they were exploring the forest and its anomalies. Mr. Mystery had given up trying to avoid them after their trip to the caves, and Ford was glad that he had a companion with a keen sense of smell, as well as a full set of fangs and extra muscles.

These all proved to be extra useful on the occasion when they encountered...the Aniwye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look at the time. Sorry, folks, but I gotta leave you on this cliffhanger because I got something important to take care of.
> 
> ...No, I'm lying. I'm totally doing this on purpose just to bug you guys. Yeah, that's right, I'm PURE EVIL. Which probably explains why Halloween is one of my favorite holidays...


	11. Obliviousness, thy name is Ford

Ford hadn’t been planning on antagonizing a giant skunk when he and Mr. Mystery left the house for a week-long camping trip (it was April, so it was finally getting warm enough for them to safely do this, though it was still pretty snowy).

He hadn’t been planning on antagonizing anyone, except maybe the gnomes if they got in his way again.

In fact, his thoughts had been mainly circling around ways to help his friend keep remembering that he was a human, because losing your memories of who you were sounded like a terrible fate that he wouldn’t wish on anyone, ever; to this end he and Mr. Mystery had wandered into a more remote part of the forest that they’d never visited before, wondering if they could find another wizard or anything else that might help them in their quest to restore the dog’s humanity. As they traveled Ford drew a map in his journal, indicating interesting landmarks they found; this included a bush whose leaves appeared to be made of pure gold during certain times of day (Mr. Mystery looked very disappointed when they turned out not to be actual gold), and the glade surrounded by a circle of trees with doors on them, shaped like the symbols of different holidays (Ford made a mental note to examine it further when he had more time).

“Maybe there’s an enchanted pool you can jump in that would wash the curse away,” Ford suggested as they climbed over a fallen log. “I read about one of those in a book once. Granted, the character had been turned into a dragon, and he needed a magical talking lion to help peel his dragon skin off so he could actually swim in the pool, but I’m sure one of the mountain lions around here could be an approximate enough substitute.”

Mr. Mystery swatted him with his tail; he grinned unashamedly and hopped down onto the ground on the other side. After a moment the dog managed to follow suit-he was a little squeamish about heights, Ford had noticed.

“...We need to think of an easier way to communicate when we’re away from home,” Ford said after a few minutes. “Because it’s not always convenient to pull out the Scrabble board every time you need to say something important.”

The dog looked up at him with an expression that said plainly, _Thank you, Captain Obvious, I never woulda figured that out on my own._

“You know what I mean. I’m just saying that sometimes I wish you could talk, so we can have actual conversations-do you want to go right or left?”

Mr. Mystery tilted his head to the left. Ford nodded and followed him.

“Our communication is more limited when you don’t have a way to form actual words; it would be nice if I didn’t have to guess what you were trying to tell me all the time-hey!” Ford stumbled over his feet when Mr. Mystery shoved him sideways-just before the ground where his boot had been about to land burst open, and a large mole-man poked his head out. Mr. Mystery grabbed the scruff of his neck (gently but firmly) in his teeth before he could disappear again, allowing Ford to spend a few minutes sketching and studying him before letting him go.

“I mean, what if something dangerous was close by, and you needed to warn me about it? I suppose you could bark a message out in Morse code, but by the time you finished the message it could be too late.” Mr. Mystery lunged past him and grabbed the fur-covered snake which had been just seconds away from sinking its fangs into his ankle, breaking its neck with one quick shake of his head and dropping the lifeless corpse to the ground.

“One of my roommates in college was a linguistics major who told me a lot about the importance of communication-you ready for a rest yet?”

Mr. Mystery shook his head, pointing his nose further off into the trees.

“What, is there something up there you want to get to?”

Mr. Mystery nodded.

“You’re the boss. As I was saying, I’ve been thinking about possible options-” Ford leaned down when Mr. Mystery grabbed his arm in his teeth and pulled him, just in time to avoid banging his head on a low tree branch- “thank you, and I’m going to ask the fairies if they know about any strange plants that can produce telepathy when ingested, or something. Or I could even study the gremloblins more, since they have a sort of telepathy when they make eye contact with other creatures-though in their case it’s exclusively for the purpose of giving them visions of their worst-oh my gosh!”

* * *

Mr. Mystery had led him into a new clearing. Unlike the rest of the forest, it was warm, lush and green, with sunlight glistening above and large butterflies flitting around. A small stream ran through the middle of it, babbling just like all the stereotypes said it did.

For a moment Ford just stood there in wonder and admired it, his hand releasing Mr. Mystery’s leash without needing to consciously do so. The dog trotted further into the clearing, sniffing around before taking a moment to just roll in the grass.

At last Ford stepped into the clearing, and walked around the edge of it, examining the ground. There were no signs of how all this was possible; just an area where the snow ended, and grass began.

“I wonder if it’s like this all year, or if the seasons change just like they do outside,” he murmured, shrugging off his backpack and coat. He barely noticed when Mr. Mystery came over and grabbed them, until a few minutes later when he heard a sharp bark and turned to see the dog trying ineffectively to unroll his sleeping bag without getting his muddy paws all over it.

“Oh, good idea-this is a great camping spot.” Ford hurried over to assist him, and was graced again with a happily wagging tail.

While Mr. Mystery got dinner ready (achieved by Ford packing a Bunsen burner and several cans of soup), Ford went exploring to see how far the little pocket of spring went. It was, as best he could tell, a mile long in diameter, stretching around in a perfect circle. Of course, it would be easier to tell from a bird’s-eye view, but based on the drawing he was able to make, the calculation wasn’t too far off.

_What on earth could have made this happen? Is it a kind of magic? Did we pass between some druidic stones or something that brought us into a different time? Wait a minute-I should see if the position of the sun outside of this place is the same as on the inside!_

With fresh excitement Ford rushed to where he could see snow, at the edge of the clearing.

Unfortunately, he had neglected to notice that this particular area was right at the edge of a cliff, and he went rushing over it.

On the bright side, it wasn’t too steep, so he barely had time to let out a startled yell before he landed on something soft.

On the dark side, it was also something big. And black. And white. And very, very smelly.

_...Oh [CENSORED]._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Honestly, the chapter title just says it all.


	12. Attack of the ten-foot mustelid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys better appreciate this chapter; I sacrificed valuable sleep to write it.

Stan had barely taken the time to move the soup off the burner when he heard his brother’s startled yell.

_ I leave him alone for five minutes… _

With an annoyed sigh Stan went bounding across the clearing to the side where Ford disappeared to-and his annoyance quickly changed to fear and worry when he saw that it was at the edge of a cliff.

_ Stanford?! _

He rushed to the edge and frantically peered over, worried that he’d see his brother’s crumpled, lifeless body laying at the bottom-

Instead he saw him about to be bucked off the back of the world’s biggest skunk.

It-no, Stan realized from the smell, and was surprised to realize that he could know this from just the smell,  _ she _ -was about the size of a grizzly bear, and right now she was clearly not pleased to have a six-foot nerd sitting on her. The skunk reared up on her hind legs, snarling, and tried to twist her head around enough to snap at him. Ford squirmed in the opposite direction, fingers buried in her fur for dear life, and barely dodged one of her massive paws, the claws managing to swipe through the ends of his hair.

The scene might have been kinda funny if Ford wasn’t genuinely in danger; he couldn’t stay there, but it clearly wasn’t safe for him to try to jump off either. So, Stan did what he did best in situations like this: he didn’t think too hard about what he was gonna do next. He just leaped off the cliff, landing right on the skunk’s head.

She never saw him coming, so they all went crashing to the ground.

_ Ford! Get up! RUN! _

Stan barked frantically at his brother, who seemed to get the gist of what he was saying. He staggered to his feet, looking a little dazed from all the thrashing around that just happened.

_ I said run! _ Stan jumped off the skunk and rushed at Ford, shoving against his knees and pushing him towards the tree line. That finally seemed to wake him up a little, and he began stumbling in the direction he was being pushed. They hadn’t gone far, though, before there was a loud hissing noise, and Stan barely managed to tackle Ford out of the way of a stream of yellow spraying liquid.

_ Geez, lady, chill out! We’re goin’-! _

Stan’s thoughts were replaced by a frightened whine when the skunk spray made contact with the trees. Specifically, when right before his eyes they began to curl up and wither, until all that was left was three blackened stumps.

He and Ford looked at each other in slight horror for a moment-and then they both began to run.

* * *

_ If we get out of her territory she’ll just stop chasing us, right? _ Stan thought as he tore through a clump of bushes, barely feeling the sting of them lashing across his face.  _ Aren’t skunks supposed ta only spray as a last defense or something? Even if this one’s real big compared ta the usual, she probably just wants us ta leave her alone-LOOK OUT! _

A massive paw nearly took his head off before he managed to dodge. Clearly, running away wasn’t gonna be enough to get rid of her. Not unless he could slow her down somehow…

Stan whirled around, his paws skidding in the snow, and barked sharply right in the enraged skunk’s face, turning it into a deep snarl at the end.

_ You wanna fight, sister? You’re gonna get a fight. _

“M!” he heard Ford call behind him. He didn’t take his eyes off the skunk’s face-and so he saw her eyes flicker in his brother’s direction, and the way they glittered with a mixture of what looked like hatred...and hunger.

_ Don’t even think about it! _

Stan lunged, closing his jaws around her leg and biting down as hard as he could. He only held on long enough to hear something crack inside, and then darted back, dancing lightly on his paws like he was in the boxing ring.

The skunk screamed with rage, and swiped her other paw at him. Stan dodged, but not quite quick enough to avoid the sudden feeling like knives were raking down his back.

Stan crumpled into the snow, his side burning, dampness spreading across his fur. But just as quickly he scrambled back to his feet, all his instincts yelling for him to  _ protect Ford _ .

And a good thing too; the skunk had turned in the direction of his brother-why in the everloving heck was he still there?!-and raising her tail.

Stan darted in again, snapping and biting at her ribs, her underbelly, her legs, tearing through thick black and white fur to the flesh underneath and sinking his teeth in anywhere he could get a grip before leaping away and attacking another spot.

She snarled and tried to catch him in her jaws, but he just darted out of reach, grabbing one of her hind legs and making those bones crack too, harder than the last ones so it collapsed under her.

And then, out of the blue, Ford came running, wielding a giant branch in his hands like a club and hollering bloody murder, and swung it down right on top of the skunk’s head.

The skunk’s expression was almost comical as she swayed a couple of times, before collapsing face-first into the snow.

For a moment the two brothers-one on two legs, the other on four paws-stood there, panting, staring at the giant body laying in front of them, not sure if she was dead or just stunned and pretty sure they didn’t want to stick around to find out.

_ Whoa, you’ve actually got a little muscle in those noodle arms _ , Stan thought dazedly.  _ I’m impressed. _

And then he got a better look at those arms, and realized that his brother was standing in a snowy forest without his coat on, and his brother was shaking and in danger of hypothermia if they didn’t get out of the cold right this instant.

He grabbed Ford’s pant leg in his teeth, and tugged.  _ We gotta get back to camp before ya freeze ta death. C’mon. _

_ Hopefully if she’s not dead, she’ll realize it’s not worth comin’ after us again. _

Ford blinked in confusion. “Wha…?”

Stan gave a more insistent tug.  _ Come ON. _

“Oh. Uh-okay.” Ford stumbled after him, clumping through the snow until they managed to find their way back up to the warm clearing.

* * *

“M, you’re hurt,” Ford murmured abruptly as they reached the-the meadow thingy, whatever.

_...So situation normal? _

Now that he mentioned it, though, Stan’s side was still stinging and burning, and it felt like there was still blood oozing through his fur…

_ Huh, maybe that explains why everything’s startin’ ta sway… _

_...Think I’m gonna lie down for just a little bit. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, sorry, did you think this was gonna be a nice, funny chapter about the boys getting attacked by a giant skunk?  
> Yeah, no. Not so much.  
> Whoopsie.
> 
> Don't worry, Stan's not dead. He's just resting.


	13. Heart-to-broken heart talk (sort of)

When Stan opened his eyes again, he felt like he’d been hit by a bus.

Then, groggily, he remembered that he’d actually been hit by a giant skunk.

_Heh, not a sentence you use every day._

He forced himself to sit up enough that his head and chest were raised, and twisted until he could get a good look at the damage; he could tell his wounds had been cleaned and bandaged while he was asleep, at least. They looked like they covered at least half his back and reached around the left side of his ribs, and he even had some bandaging around his foreleg.

Stan leaned down and sniffed at it, wondering how the heck that happened.

“Don’t move too much-you might start bleeding again.”

Ford was sitting next to a small campfire-wait, no, Stan realized when he sniffed at it, it was a what-d’ya-call-it, a _scampfire_ , yeah-a few feet away from him. There was a bag of giant marshmallows at his side, and he was alternating between tossing them to the sentient flame and popping them into his mouth.

Stan forced himself to stand, as much as it made lightning shoot up and down his left side, and hobbled a little bit in his direction.

Ford growled. “What did I just say, M?” He got up and forced Stan to lie back down with embarrassingly minimal effort. “I swear, you are one of the stubbornest people I know-and yes, I see the irony, ha ha.”

 _Huh, look who’s actually becoming a little self-aware_ , Stan thought, raising his eyebrows at him.

Ford just checked over his bandages, and then, to his surprise, sat down right next to him in the grass.

For a minute he was quiet, looking like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how to go about it. At last, though, he went with, “... You saved my life.”

Stan blinked, and then shrugged a little.

“Oh, don’t be so modest, you literally fought with a giant skunk for Moses’ sake!” Ford said firmly. “Where did you learn to fight like that? Was it just your dog side doing all the work, or what?”

Stan looked down at the dirt, wondering if he could scratch out a coherent enough message in it.

“Oh, hold on.” A moment later Ford grabbed his backpack, and pulled out a bag containing the Scrabble tiles. He poured them out for Stan, even laying them face-up. The dog thought carefully about what he wanted to say as he answered.

S-P-E-N-T A L-O-T O-F T-I-M-E F-I-G-H-T-I-N-G W-H-E-N I W-A-S H-U-M-A-N

“...For fun?”

S-O-M-E-T-I-M-E-S

_Other times it was so I wouldn’t get killed by the other guy. Or often guys._

He decided not to reveal that little detail. Ford looked perturbed by this anyway, but didn’t question further.

“Well, when we get home I owe you the biggest steak money can buy.”

Despite himself, Stan’s tail wagged and his mouth watered at the mental image that swam into his head.

Ford grinned at him warmly, and rubbed his ears.

* * *

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Ford picked up his journal and began quietly writing in it. Stan could tell he was recording the day’s adventures, so he laid his head on his paws and prepared to go to sleep. Until he was startled by something light landing on his nose.

Stan jerked his head back up, snorting-and saw that it was a piece of paper.

No, he realized upon further investigation, not just a piece of paper-an old photograph, that Ford must be using as a bookmark or something.

Stan was about to nudge Ford, who was most likely so absorbed in his writing that he hadn’t even noticed...when he saw what the photo actually was.

For a minute all Stan could do was stare at it numbly, not sure he believed his own eyes.

Because that photo...was of him and Ford.

The original _human_ him, as a happily smiling ten-year-old with a gap between his teeth, chest and face sunburned as he stood proudly on-

On the deck of the _Stan O’War_.

Ford finally noticed what was going on down by his feet, and gasped, and maybe blushed but it was hard to tell in the flickering scampfire light. Hurriedly he snatched up the photo, cleaning it off on his sleeve.

“Oh, sorry, I-I was using that as a bookmark, it must have fallen out-”

Why _do you_ have _that?!_ Stan thought, jerking his head up to stare at his brother. _I-you don’t care about the boat_ or _me, so why the heck are you carryin’ that around?!_

But for the first time on this trip, despite his thoughts on communication through speech, Ford didn’t understand his unspoken questions. He sighed a little, and said softly, staring down at the photo, “Remember when I told you I had a brother? This is him.”

“His name’s Stanley. Our father...wasn’t very original when it came to naming things.”

Stan snorted. _No duh._

Ford thumbed a corner of the photo thoughtfully. “We...spent most of our childhood getting in trouble together. We’d go exploring on the beach, looking for adventure-or buried treasure, whichever came first.” He laughed a little, and rolled his eyes. “Because that actually seemed like a possibility back then.”

Stan snorted too, remembering with embarrassment his futile attempt at treasure hunting with the metal detector.

“And...one day we found this old, broken-down sailboat hidden in a cave. And it just seemed like the coolest thing in the world-we began to spend all our time rebuilding it, and talking about taking it to one day sail away from New Jersey-that’s where we grew up, New Jersey-and just...live in this fantasy where things like money and the real world didn’t matter.”

Stan felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. _What’s so terrible about that? If you haven’t noticed, Poindexter, the real world sucks! Besides,_ you _spent all your time hiding in your house and surviving on coffee before I showed up-how is that_ not _living in a fantasy?!_

Ford didn’t notice his agitation, he was so absorbed in telling his story. “We called it the _Stan O’War_. And it sort of...became the centerpiece of our relationship.”

“Then, our senior year of high school, we got called to the principal’s office-that’s how often we got in trouble, if they wanted one of us they’d call for both of us. But this time, the principal wanted to tell our parents and me about this amazing opportunity. There was this amazing school-West Coast Tech. The best college in the world for blah blah blah blah…”

Of course, he didn’t actually say “blah”; Stan just kind of tuned out his gushing over _that place_. It was necessary for him to do so, because just hearing its name was enough to make the fur on his back start rising, and a growl try to stir in his throat. He couldn’t begin to describe how much _hatred_ he felt towards that school.

* * *

He refocused his attention when Ford started talking about the perpetual motion machine, and...the gym.

“...after all that work, it was just sitting there broken! It was like my whole world was swept away before I knew what was happening! They didn’t even try to ask me about my process or what had gone wrong or anything, they just said I wasn’t West Coast material and walked away!”

Stan may have still hated the school with every fiber of his being...but he did let out a small whine of sympathy and leaned his head against Ford’s leg.

_...I’m sorry, Stanford. I shoulda-shoulda told you what happened and given ya time ta fix what went wrong._

Six fingers gently kneaded the fur on top of his head, getting that spot right between his ears that he could never reach on his own.

“I didn’t want to believe that Stanley had anything to do with it, but-I found an empty bag of toffee peanuts on the floor. He really liked toffee peanuts, and I knew he was still living in his stupid fantasy, and when I got home and confronted him about it he actually tried to weasel out of it and call it an _accident_!”

Ford pulled a little too hard at Stan’s fur, and he let out a small pained yelp.

“Sorry, sorry!” He released his grip. “It’s-just thinking about it still makes me so mad.”

Stan’s guts twisted with a mixture of pain, frustration and anger of his own.

 _And you shoulda given me a chance to explain! You really think I’d ever be that petty?! Yeah, I didn’t want you ta go to that school and leave me behind, but I wouldn’t’ve broken it on purpose! You just assumed everything and accused me of sabotaging your entire future-because yeah, it’s_ totally _sabotaged, with your nice house in a town where you get ta study all the anomalies you want whenever you bother ta stick your stupid head outdoors-!_

He almost missed it when Ford continued talking.

“As soon as Pa found out what Stanley had done...I’ve never seen him so angry before or since. He threw Stan out of the house and told him he’d cost me a chance to make our family millions, and he wasn’t allowed to come back until he could pay it all back.” He let out a bitter huff. “Just like that...he was gone. And I never saw him again.”

 _Funny how you neglected ta mention that I looked ta you for help, and ya just shut the curtains on me_ , Stan thought, feeling pretty bitter himself; he glared into the depths of the scampfire.

He looked back at his twin, though, when Ford whispered, “Maybe...maybe he was just used to the fact that he always protected me from people who tried to bully me for my unusual hands. Maybe he was afraid that I couldn’t make it on my own, and that’s why he did it.” He stared at his hands thoughtfully, splaying one of them and rolling his fingers. “And I-” He froze, and his eyes widened with a sudden realization behind his glasses. “I don’t...I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

To Stan’s surprise, Ford actually looked a little horrified by this.

“...You’d think that’d be something you’d instinctively know about your twin, wouldn’t you?” He glanced down at Stan with a small, mirthless laugh. “Some kind of weird thing inside should always tell me how he’s doing, like a psychic link, heh. I mean-I’m sure he’s fine. He was always the one who was good at things like talking to other people, and getting along with the outside world. But…”

He stared down at the photo with a frown that maybe could’ve been seen as kind of sad.

After a minute, though, his jaw clenched with resolution, and he stuck the photo back in his journal, which he snapped shut.

“If he wanted to reach out to me and tell me how he was doing, he would’ve by now. It’s not my job to worry about him.”

This time, all Stan’s heart did was shatter inside.

_Wow, Sixer, you really don’t know me at all, do you?_

He laid his head on his paws, and let his ears sadly droop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sniff, blows nose*  
> Well, guys, s-some of you wanted the part where-where Ford tells "Mr. Mystery" about his brother at last. *Sniff*  
> Are you h-happy now?  
> *Mouth trembles*  
> ARE YOU?!?!
> 
> *Runs away sobbing*


	14. Incomplete truths and unwanted tourists

The next day, they packed up and headed back home; somehow, nearly being mauled and sprayed to death by a giant skunk had cooled their ardor for this little adventure. And as they walked, despite his protestations Ford could feel the thought from last night still lurking in the back of his head.

He genuinely didn’t know if Stanley was alive or not.

Now that it had entered the front of his mind, the thought wouldn’t leave.

Stanley could be dead. He could have been dead for the last six years, and Ford wouldn’t have ever known-

_No, don’t think like that! Mom said-she told me that she’s heard from him sometimes, that he’s called her!_

_...Except that she’s a pathological liar, remember? What if she was just telling me what she thought I’d want to hear even when I told her I didn’t care, or-maybe she just made it all up and convinced herself it was the truth…_

Ford felt like there was a cold hand squeezing his heart. And he had a sudden desperate urge to go home and make a phone call.

Mr. Mystery seemed to be lost in his own thoughts today too. Ford attributed it to his being in pain from his injuries, and allowed him to take it easy as they walked.

When they finally made it to the outskirts of town, though, he didn’t turn towards home; he tugged Mr. Mystery’s leash in the opposite direction.

The dog gave him a nonplussed stare and tilted his head.

“I think we should go see Dr. Marks,” he explained. “You might need stitches on some of those cuts, and I’m sure she’s a lot better at it than I am.”

His ears drooped again, but after a moment he sighed through his nose and limped after Ford.

Their reception when they got into town was...a little different from normal. People still waved when they saw them, but when they got close, for some reason their faces kept scrunching up in disgust. There was even a group of teenagers who doubled over and gagged when they passed them.

Ford looked down at Mr. Mystery in confusion. “Do we smell funny or something?”

Mr. Mystery leaned in to sniff at his pant leg; he pulled back, and shrugged.

“Come to think of it...can you smell much of anything right now?”

Mr. Mystery inhaled deeply through his nose...and his eyes widened, and he shook his head a tiny bit.

“Oh man.”

* * *

Not even their apparent stench was enough to perturb the receptionist, who looked at them over the top of her latest magazine and then said in a monotone, “The doctor will be right with you; take a seat.”

Meekly they sat and waited, watching the potted plants on the desk slowly wither and fall over, until Dr. Marks came out to see them.

Her nose wrinkled, and after a moment she asked, “...Do I _want_ to know?”

“It was an incident with a skunk.”

She tilted her head, eyes skeptical behind her glasses. “Just _one_?”

“It was a really big skunk.”

“...Come on back.”

“Giant skunk, huh?” Dr. Marks asked as she examined Mr. Mystery’s wounds. “I think the Ojibwe call that an Aniwye. Didn’t realize there were any around here.”

“I didn’t know it had an official name like that.” Ford hurriedly wrote that down in his journal.

“Mythology’s one of my passions.” She grimaced at one that could have severed the dog’s spine had it gone any deeper. “You’re lucky these managed to clot so well, but I think I’m gonna need to stitch some of them just in case. And give him a _lot_ of antibiotics. The good news, though, is that I don’t think either of your noses are permanently damaged-I mean, I probably shouldn’t be giving that kind of assessment to you, since you’re not hairy enough to be my usual kind of patient-” Ford blushed- “but I _think_ your sinuses just plugged themselves up out of self-defense from being around the smell, and once you get a proper bath-you know that tomato juice doesn’t actually work, right?”

“Yes, of _course_ I know that! I didn’t get my PhDs for-”

“Then you should know that you need to just take a baking soda bath for fifteen minutes-or maybe longer, considering how big that thing was-I’d give it half an hour, tops. And wash him using a quart of 3% hydrogen peroxide, one-fourth cup baking soda, and a teaspoon of liquid dish soap. Or I can just do that here-I have all the ingredients, and I need to clean him up anyway for the surgery.”

“You’re just prepared for every emergency, aren’t you?” Ford couldn’t help asking with some amusement.

“I’m the only vet in town, I kind of have to be.” Dr. Marks smiled, and scratched under Mr. Mystery’s chin. “This whole thing shouldn’t take more than an hour, if you want to go home and take that bath and then come back and get him.”

Ford glanced at the dog. “You gonna be all right if I do that?”

Mr. Mystery nodded.

“Okay, I’ll be back.”

“Okay-wait, did he just-?” Dr. Marks stared at Mr. Mystery in bewilderment.

“He’s a lot smarter than the average dog.” And Ford took his leave.

* * *

Just in case they didn’t have any at home, he picked up a large box of baking soda-and, remembering his promise, a giant steak. He almost got thrown out on account of his smell, but he threatened to stand outside the front door all day if they didn’t serve him, and they immediately gave in.

Supplies in hand, he slowly trudged home, thoughts racing again.

As soon as he was inside, he put the steak in the fridge-and then, before he could lose his nerve, he went to the phone and dialed a number he hadn’t used in a long, long time.

“Madame Caryn’s, what mysteries of the universe can I unlock for you today?” his mother’s voice grated into the receiver.

“...Mom?” Ford asked.

“Stanford? Is that you?!”

“Yeah, I-I know it’s been-”

“For cripes’ sake Ford, _why_ is this the first time I’ve heard from you since Hanukkah?!” She sounded angry...but more than that, she sounded _hurt_ , he realized. Ford’s insides felt like they were tying themselves in a knot.

“Sorry, I-got caught up in my work.”

“You keep sayin’ that, sweetie, and you keep driftin’ farther an’ farther away from me.”

_You are a terrible son, Stanford._

“I know, I’m sorry.” It had been a while since he allowed himself to feel this actively guilty about being distant from...well, anyone. And what he was about to say next was not going to help at all, he just knew it.

_I just want to prove that he’s fine. That I was getting worried for no reason at all._

“Mom, have you heard anything from-from Stanley, lately?”

The other end of the phone was silent.

“...Mom?”

He wondered if they’d been disconnected-until he heard a muffled sniffling noise. Followed by another, more rapid-sounding.

“Mom?!”

She let out a few wheezy breaths, and then audibly tried to collect herself. “Oh, Ford…”

Ford’s spine had an icy finger slipping down it. “What? What?!”

“...He’s been missing for months. His car was found abandoned in Nevada, and-”

The phone dropped from Ford’s nerveless fingers.

It took all his strength to force himself to pick it up again. He heard his mother’s voice saying frantically, “-ford? Stanford, are ya there? Sweetie, talk ta me!”

“...” He tried to talk to her, he really did. But all that came out was an incoherent croak.

Because if there was one thing he knew about Stanley, it was that he loved that car. He would never abandon it of his own free will, not unless...something had happened to him.

“I gave it ta Shermie fer now,” his mother was saying, the words sounding echoey and distant in his ear. “Unless-unless you want it, maybe.”

“You’re not lying, are you?” Sometimes when they were kids, asking that had worked, when Mom was ‘enhancing the truth’ a little too much and they wanted her to be straight with them.

Mom sobbed again. “I wish I was, honey.”

Ford couldn’t take anymore of this. He let the phone clatter back onto the receiver. Then, slowly, numbly, he headed to the bathroom, remembering to grab the box of baking soda on the way. He slowly turned on the water, waiting for it to get warm, and plugged the drain so it could start filling, dumping in baking soda until it seemed like enough.

And then he let out a wild yell, and hurled the still half-full box at the wall.

It was followed swiftly after by the bar of soap, by the shampoo bottle, by the can of aftershave, by everything he could get his hands on, several objects smashing and splattering everywhere-

Until at last there was nothing left to throw, and he hit the floor in a crumpled heap, collapsing against the side of the tub and burying his head in his arms, shoulders trembling and heaving.

* * *

Stan had to admit, taking a bath and then getting stitched up helped him feel a lot better about life. Of course, part of that might have been because he was still feeling loopy from the anesthetic, so all he could do was lie limply on the floor and feel _greeeeat_.

Dr. Marks giggled at his expression for the third time since he’d come out of surgery, before looking at her watch and frowning.

“Your friend’s taking his time with that bath,” she said. “I hope he didn’t fall asleep or something.”

 _Oh, Ford? Nah, Ford’s never been big on long baths. He wouldn’t even remember ta shower every day if I didn’t remind him-heh, makes it stupid that people always thought_ I _was the sweaty gross one, cuz let me tell ya, lady, there’s times when he_ reeks _._

She adjusted her glasses, frown deepening. “How about I give you a lift up there, just in case?”

 _You should at least buy me dinner first before we get ta that level in our relationship…_ But his tail thumped, and he smiled goofily at the doctor-no, wait, she was a vet. Was a vet the same thing as a doctor? He couldn’t really remember right now. He could barely remember Ford’s address, which would cause problems if she needed to ask him what it was-

Oh, wait, he was a dog. And she already knew his address, she’d been there once.

Heh, silly him.

Dr. Marks managed to get him into his harness and leash, and tried to help him get up and walk out the door. And Stan tried to make it easy for her, really he did-the problem was that trying to walk with four legs while you’re stoned out of your mind or whatever you call it is even harder than trying to do it with only two legs.

“Dolores, I’m taking this big fella home because his master’s running late! Can you give me a hand?” she called to her secretary.

The lady-Dolores-gave a long-suffering sigh, and stopped manicuring her nails before getting up to assist her.

It turned out that Dr. Marks had a nice blue-green truck with a big backseat and floor that he could lie down on without getting too squished, and she put down a few big fluffy towels first, which was _reeeeally_ nice.

Stan gave her hand a warm lick before she could close the door, and she smiled and scratched his ears in just the right spot to keep him in his happy place.

Stan dozed on and off for a while, lulled by the feeling of movement-until suddenly he opened his eyes and realized they’d stopped. He looked up, letting out a confused grunt.

“Sorry,” Dr. Marks said from the front seat, “there’s been a crash up the street. We’re kind of stuck for the moment. You’re not feeling carsick, are you, sweetie?”

Stan shook his head no. _Even if I were, I wouldn’t throw up in your car. You’re a nice lady. Not like my ex-wife Marilyn, let me tell ya-_

She seemed to mistake his expression for nausea, because she rolled down one of the back windows. “You can stick your head out if you need to, okay?”

Stan really wasn’t feeling carsick, but he stuck his head out anyway because it seemed like it would make her happy.

The cool breeze did feel awful nice on his fur, he had to admit. And it seemed like she’d been right about the bath, because his nose was suddenly picking up all kinds of scents: pine trees, engine oil, grease, syrup-they were probably near Greasy’s Diner-lots an’ lots o’ humans-

And then another sharp scent cut through all the others, sobering him up a little.

Something strong, a little like electricity, mixed with bad cabbage, fire, and a whole lot of other scents that seemed to just scream “DANGER” to his canine senses.

Stan jerked his head around, looking for the source of this smell-and saw it over there, just stepping out of the front door of the diner.

A man in an immaculate pinstripe suit, dark hair slicked back with some kind of pomade, with what even from here Stan could see was a ring on pretty much every finger.

The wizard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just when I think I can't possibly make this story more angsty and cliffhanger-y, I surprise myself.  
> Oops. 😈


	15. Damned if you do, damned if you don't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this chapter contains a lot more angst, if the title wasn't proof enough of that.

The best way to describe Stan’s reaction to seeing the wizard would be...oh, let’s go with  **DEFCON 1** .

A frenzy of infuriated barking like he hadn’t done since he first became a dog tore itself from his throat, and he began trying to squirm his way through the window with the intent of going after that guy and  _ tearing him to pieces _ .

“Hey! Hey, stop!” He vaguely heard the doc yelling at him, barely paid attention to it as he managed to get one front leg out, and twisted in an attempt to find a position that would best allow him to get the other one out and charge after the jerk who-

Who was no longer there.

Stan blinked in bewilderment, looking around for the wizard.

He’d been standing right in front of the diner, he was  _ sure _ of it. He hadn’t only seen him, he’d  _ smelled _ him, and when you were a dog, you could trust your nose when you couldn’t trust any of your other senses. Had he walked away, or…?

But there was no sign of him anywhere.

_...Either these meds are stronger than I thought, or he’s got some kinda teleporting magic. _

Slowly, Stan tried to get himself back into the truck-only to realize that he’d gotten himself stuck.

Dr. Marks ended up having to get out and help push him back inside.

“Well, I hope you learned your lesson!” she scolded once he was completely unstuck. “Or do I need to roll up the window?”

Stan shook his head sheepishly, ears drooping, and gave her his most soulful apologetic stare.

Considering the fact that he now had big brown puppy eyes that he could use to his advantage, it was kind of cheating. But since when did he ever play fair?

After a moment her frown faded, and she reached in and scratched him with a sigh. “It’s not your fault, sweetie. It’s probably your meds making you act funny. Don’t worry, we’re almost at your home and you can go sleep it off.”

_ Nailed it. _

* * *

When they got home, Stan was able to stagger on legs that only wobbled a little up the steps to the front door. Dr. Marks knocked, and they waited for a minute.

No answer.

She knocked again, harder, and called, “Mr. Pines? Hello?”

Still no answer.

_ Sixer? You okay in there? _

Stan managed a loud, warbling bark that turned into a howl; there was no way Ford wouldn’t be able to hear that unless he was in his basement.

_ Or unless something happened to him, like- _

Before Stan’s worries had a chance to really manifest themselves, like what if Mr. Wizard had decided to come here and screw with his brother (in which case Stan didn’t care what kind of powers he had, he was a dead wizard walking), there was the shuffle of footsteps inside, and then the door opened enough to reveal Ford, dressed in his red flannel pajamas despite it not even being sundown yet...and looking terrible.

His fluffy hair was still damp from his bath, and it looked like he hadn’t even bothered to comb it, so his bangs were drooping into his eyes and little tufts were sticking out at every possible angle. He was also paler than usual, except for his nose and eyes, which were red and bloodshot, respectively.

Dr. Marks gasped. “Mr. Pines! Are-are you all right? What happened?”

“Nothing,” Ford said in a low, hoarse tone. “Thank you for bringing Mr. Mystery home. I...got sidetracked and forgot to go get him.”

“...Are you sure? You look like you’re having an allergic reaction to the baking soda or something-I don’t know if that’s possible, but-”

She stopped when he held up a hand. “Yes. Please...just go.”

Dr. Marks swallowed, eyes bright with concern and a bit of hurt. She reached out and put a hand on his arm; Ford started at the contact, and Stan picked up the tiniest hint of a whimper rising in his throat.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?”

He nodded, taking Stan’s leash from her.

After squeezing briefly, she released his arm and headed back to the truck. Ford pulled Stan inside, and shut the door.

_ Okay, Sixer, what’s up? _ Stan demanded silently as his brother knelt and divested him of his harness.  _ Anyone with half an eye can tell you’re upset; what hap- _

Ford’s shoulders were shaking, and his eyes had clenched shut, and the whimper rose into a full-blown sob.

_ Ford?! What’s the matter? _ Stan whined, leaning forward until he was pressed against his twin’s chest.  _ C’mon, Ford, talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. _

A second later, Ford had thrown his arms around him, and was weeping almost soundlessly into his shoulder.

* * *

Stan wished his front legs were better suited for hugging; he had to make due with awkwardly wrapping his paws around his brother’s waist and leaning his chin on his shoulder, and then curling his tail until it was resting on Ford’s legs for good measure. Until he was ready to talk, there wasn’t much else he could do.

For what felt like a full half-hour they sat there, until at last Ford was calmed down enough to pull back. Stan gently took his sleeve in his teeth and tugged.

_ C’mon, let’s go sit down, ‘kay? _

Ford allowed him to lead him to the sofa, where he sat huddled in on himself, still trembling. Stan grabbed him a box of tissues (a little amazed that a sloppy bachelor like his twin would even have them), and waited for him to clean his face up.

Then he went to his Scrabble board, and wrote, H-O-W A-B-O-U-T I G-E-T Y-O-U S-O-M-E S-O-U-P

Ford shook his head. “I don’t want to eat.”

Stan growled sternly.

“I don’t  _ deserve _ to eat, M!” Ford snapped, glaring at him.

_ What the heck are you talking about?! _ Stan couldn’t help making an irritable snarl.

“Stanley’s  _ dead _ !”

Stan froze.

Not literally, but it felt like his insides had filled up with ice.

He stared at Ford, mouth hanging open stupidly but he couldn’t help it.

As quickly as it came, Ford’s anger bled away; his shoulders sagged again, and he whispered, “I called Mom, and asked her if she’d heard from him lately, and she said that his car was abandoned somewhere in Nevada months ago. He loves that car, M. He would never just leave it. That means he’s probably…”

_...Oh. _

Now it felt like the bottom of Stan’s stomach had dropped open, and a blend of horror and shame had crawled in. He couldn’t even feel happy about finally knowing what had happened to his car.

Ford misinterpreted his expression, and stared glumly at his knees.

“I know. I’m a monster. I-I never even tried to-” He started shaking again.

_ Oh g_d, Ford… _

Stan came back to the sofa and climbed up, leaning against Ford’s shoulder with a soft whine. Ford wrapped his arms back around him, sniffling.

_ He’s really broken up about this. _

Even when he was homeless, Stan had entertained the notion that Ford would be at least a little sad if anything happened to him and he found out about it. But it was another matter entirely to see it in action. And his own heart was breaking, because he had the ability to stop his brother’s pain with two simple words, and there was no way he could do so.

Well, it would take a lot more than just saying “I-M S-T-A-N-L-E-Y” to help Ford right now, but it would certainly be a start if he did. He would know that his brother wasn’t dead or lost in some other way, he was right here with him, even if it was as a dog.

But the most selfish, cowardly part of Stan’s soul leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Exactly how thrilled will he be to learn that his good buddy ‘Mr. Mystery’ has been lying to him this whole time about knowing who he is and how to break his curse? Is it worth taking this pain away when he’ll want nothing to do with you ever again afterwards?”

...Stan couldn’t do it.

And so, as Ford eventually lay down and fell asleep, still clinging to him for dear life, Stan felt like he was being ripped in half.

* * *

He lay there until he was sure his brother was sound asleep, and licked the tears from his face, too concerned with offering some form of comfort to think about how gross it was this time. Then, carefully, he slipped off the sofa, and retrieved a blanket from upstairs, draping it over Ford. When he finished that, he followed the unique blend of smells coming from the bathroom, and discovered the unholy mess still covering...well, everything in there, and with a small sigh he got started on cleaning that up.

Quite a few things needed to be thrown away, and Stan made out a shopping list on the Scrabble board. He tried to keep as much of the substances out of his mouth as possible, not needing to read the labels to know that they could be toxic for animals. When he’d done as much as he could, he went to the kitchen and pulled a can of chili out for when Ford woke up; regardless of what he thought, he needed to eat.

He was just wondering if it was worth trying to put together some other kind of comfort food, and  _ wishing _ that making Mom’s latkes wouldn’t give the game away (assuming he could even figure out how to make them in his condition), when he heard a creaking noise on the front porch.

Instantly Stan’s suspicions were alerted; he lowered his paws from the counter, and crept to the side door, where he slipped out and went around to the front of the house.

And when he saw who was standing there, a snarl erupted from his mouth, and in one smooth leap he pounced, knocking the intruder to the floor of the porch.

To Stan’s annoyance, he only looked surprised for a moment before grinning up at him.

“You look awfully familiar,” said Mr. Wizard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Screw it, that seems to be the fan nickname for him, so I'm just gonna roll with it until or unless I come up with a better name for this jerk.  
> That okay with everyone?


	16. There really is such a thing as too much information

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know how soon of an update this is. But you guys just keep clamoring for more, and it seems like a lot of you really need this right now, so I just keep feeling motivated to get these out as soon as possible, you know?  
> So at least one good thing's coming out of this stupid coronavirus, I guess: a lot of free writing time for many people.

_ YOU! _

Stan was trembling with rage, a dark, thunderous growl rumbling in his throat as he glowered at the smirking man.

Mr. Wizard just shrugged, perfectly nonchalant. “Me.”

“Yes, I can more or less hear your thoughts,” he continued, folding his arms behind his head like he was about to do some stargazing. “A lot of them are  _ so _ angry, it’s like being in a cage fighter arena.”

_ I would ask you ta give me one good reason why I shouldn’t rip your throat out right now, but I don’t want a reason not to. _ Stan increased the pressure of his paws on his chest.

“My, my, you’re taking this whole thing kind of personally, don’t you think?” He raised his eyebrow, not appearing to notice the weight at all.

_ Personally?! YOU DESTROYED MY LIFE! I THOUGHT I HAD NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE, AND YOU TOOK AWAY EVEN THE LITTLE BIT I HAD! _

Stan lurched forward, deciding that he was done talking. But before his teeth could actually make contact, the blue-green ring started glowing again, and he was levitated into the air.

Mr. Wizard sat up and dusted himself off, and straightened his coat.

“Destroyed? I’d say I’ve improved its quality at least tenfold.” He twirled his finger, and Stan’s body floated in a circle in the same direction. “You’re looking a lot stronger and healthier than you were when I last saw you. And-” he peered into Stan’s eyes, and gave a little nod- “you even managed to get your color vision back all on your own, I see. Oh, and need I mention that you managed to finally reunite with your brother, which would probably never have happened if you were still human? If anything, you should be thanking me for all my hard work in putting that curse on you.”

Stan told him what he could do with himself. At great length.

When he finally ran out of words, Mr. Wizard looked up from a small notepad where he actually appeared to have been writing some of the tirade down.

“I didn’t even know you could use that as an insult. Impressive.”

_ Go to hell _ , Stan spat at him, feeling too exhausted to add anything else.

He just smiled in amusement, and put his notepad away. “If you’re finished, then I suppose I should come to the point about why I’m here. I’m looking for something that I tracked to this area, I wonder if you’ve seen it anywhere.”

Stan glared at him contemptuously...then inspiration made him say,  _ Take this curse off and I’ll think about considering helping you find it. _

Even though it might lead to his losing Ford even sooner, it would be one good thing out of this whole ordeal.

“Ooh, sorry, no can do.” Mr. Wizard shrugged innocently. “Like I said when I cast the curse, the only thing that can remove it are the conditions I laid down. Someone’s gotta recognize you for who you really are, and say your name with real love in their voice. Not my fault you haven’t trusted anyone enough to make that happen.”

Stan remembered a few extra curses of his own that he hadn’t used yet.

Mr. Wizard whistled, and pulled out his notepad again. When he finished writing, he said, “But I could make it worth your while if you know where I could find a certain amulet.”

* * *

_...Amulet? _

Stan hoped his face wasn’t openly expressing the way his stomach had once again plummeted.

“Yes, a blue-green one that looks a lot like this.” The wizard gestured to the ring he was using. “It has similar powers too, but they admittedly work on a far grander scale and for longer periods of time. I suspect that your brother has it in his position, since he has such an affinity for the strange and unusual things that congregate in this little town. Do you know where he might be keeping it?”

_ Yeah, he has it. ...But it’s not gonna be easy ta get. _

He kept his expression calm as possible. But Mr. Wizard glanced at another of his rings...and frowned.

“I don’t think you’re telling me the truth,” he said, tone turning icy the way it had when he’d accused Stan of cheating. The ring, which had a stone in the center that was blue on one side and red on the other, began to glow on both sides. “Where is the amulet?”

And before he could stop himself, Stan felt the words come rushing to the front of his mind:  _ We smashed it. _

There was a terrifying silence between them that stretched for a full minute. Then Mr. Wizard said, in the calm, contained tone of someone who is just seconds away from exploding with furious rage, “You  _ what _ ?!”

Afraid as he was, Stan reacted the way he usually did to that emotion: by getting angry and defiant.

_ I said, I smashed that piece of crap to kingdom come because I could tell there was something wrong with it. _

He didn’t seem to notice the switch from ‘we’ to ‘I,’ to his hidden relief; he was too busy turning red in a way that gladdened Stan’s heart.

“You-you- _ you _ (he used a few of the words Stan had thrown at him earlier)! Do you have  _ any _ idea how long I have been trying to find that?! How many people I’ve  _ killed _ in my search for it?! And you just-!”

_ Yeah, well, as long as losing it made things rough for you then I would  _ gladly _ do it again! _

Stan didn’t care if this was him being stupid and running his mouth too much. He was tired of this man and his smarmy attitude, and he was grinning madly inside watching him go incandescent with fury at being-well, being thwarted, as Ford would probably have put it.

_ Ooh, what’re you gonna do about it, put another curse on me? _ Stan taunted, widening his eyes in mock horror.  _ Real creative and manly, hiding behind your rings every time you lose your temper. _

Mr. Wizard’s hand flew up; all the rings on it began to glow at once, and for a moment Stan worried that he’d gone a little too far this time. But then, slowly, they returned to normal, and he lowered his hand. He took a deep breath, then let it out again, returning to his natural level of paleness.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, glaring darkly down at Stan. “I don’t need my magic to punish those who cross me. It certainly helps, of course, but I don’t think I need to curse you again to take care of this little problem.”

He turned and walked off the porch, waving his hand as he did so; the light surrounding Stan vanished, and he flopped onto the boards with an inelegant thump.

Mr. Wizard walked a little down the path, before turning to glare at him again.

“Mark my words, Stan Pines.” Crap, he’d figured out his real name. That couldn’t be good. “You will feel my wrath. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon enough. And there is nothing you can do about it.”

And with that, he vanished.

Stan sat there for a moment, staring numbly at the spot where he’d been. Then, with a small shiver, he went back inside to check on his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, you people probably forgot all about the incident with the amulet, didn't you?  
> Surprise! It has come back to haunt our heroes, complete with rattling chains and eerie wailing!  
> BoooOOOoooo...


	17. Fever in the mornin', fever all through the night

It had been four days, and Ford wasn’t doing too well.

He wouldn’t eat unless Stan set the food right in front of him and forced him to pick it up.

He wouldn’t sleep unless he keeled over from exhaustion.

He wouldn’t talk, period, which meant that several times the phone went unanswered (Stan hoped that it wasn’t their mother calling; he had a sinking feeling that it might be), and when Rose and Matilda and a couple times even Dr. Marks came to visit Stan had to either send them away or play with them outside (not that he was in much of a playful mood).

He wouldn’t even change clothes.

He mostly just shuffled around the house in his pajamas, and his bathrobe whenever Stan shoved it onto his shoulders, eyes more vacant and sad than his brother had ever seen them.

And it was tearing Stan apart.

There were so many times when he went to the Scrabble board, planning to move the right letters into place that might make Ford smile again-or at least make him stop being a mindless zombie. Once he even got I-M and the S into place. But, just like every time he’d tried to call Ford to offer an apology or beg for help or even just to say he missed him...he chickened out. He ended up saying I-M S-O-R-R-Y instead-which was still true, but all it got him was a sad smile and having his ears rubbed.

* * *

So it wasn’t too surprising when on the fifth morning, Ford came out of the bathroom, and Stan took one look at him and saw that he’d gone and made himself sick.

Even from the other end of the hallway (which he’d been cleaning), Stan could see that his brother was both pale and sweaty, and trembling a little as he staggered toward the stairs. And as he got closer, he saw that Ford’s eyes were wide and glassy even under his glasses (heh, pun, sort of), and he-well, there was no good way to put it, he _smelled_ hot and feverish.

_Nope._

Without preamble Stan stomped forward, shoving his head into Ford’s stomach, and pushed him back down the hall to his room.

“M-!” Ford protested, voice raspy but at least speaking for the first time in days. He struggled a little, but Stan barely even felt it.

 _Nope, nope, you’re not goin’ anywhere._ Stan continued to shove, until the backs of his brother’s knees hit his bed and he lost his balance, falling onto it.

“You can’t-I need to-” And Ford had the audacity to start trying to get up.

_Need to what? To wander around the house moping all day anyway? No-you’re sick, so you’re goin’ back to bed and stayin’ until you’re feeling better._

Seeing that Ford wasn’t going to listen to reason, Stan saw that he had left him no choice: he reared onto his hind legs, and then flopped down across his brother’s stomach.

“M, gerroff!” Ford pushed ineffectively at him, showing more spirit than he’d had in days but still as weak as a kitten.

Stan just stretched, digging his paws firmly into the blankets.

_C’mon, Poindexter, don’t fight it. Yield to the logic of the situation._

It was another thirty seconds before Ford did so, allowing his arms to drop with a frustrated huff. Once he was sure his brother wasn’t going to try to escape, Stan climbed the rest of the way onto the bed, arranging them so that Ford was tucked under the blankets, with Stan’s head resting on his chest and the rest of him curled around him, trying to calm his shivering.

“...This feels nice,” Ford grudgingly admitted, burying his fingers in his fur.

_Good. Now try ta get some sleep, knucklehead. You’ll-well, you probably won’t feel better about...certain things. But it’ll help if ya close your eyes for an hour. Or three. Ideally more than that, but I’ll take what I can get with you._

Ford’s eyes slowly shut, and he fell into a somewhat fitful sleep, groaning and mumbling. And for a while his temperature, which Stan checked by pressing his nose against his forehead, remained more or less the same, not getting better but at least not getting any worse.

When it began to climb later in the afternoon, however, he hurriedly untangled himself from the bed and hurried to the bathroom, soaking a washcloth in cold water and then carrying it, still dripping because he couldn’t exactly wring it out, back and laying it on Ford’s forehead.

His brother groaned, and his eyes opened-and widened when they met Stan’s.

“...Stanley…?”

Stan’s heart seemed to _stop_.

Then Ford blinked, and he looked around in confusion.

“Stan? Where…?”

_Crap. He’s delirious now._

Stan gently licked his brother’s cheek, feeling an odd mixture of relief and disappointment. _It’s okay, Sixer. I’m right here. ...Just relax, you’re gonna be fine, just lemme find ya some medicine._

“...” Ford mumbled something he didn’t quite catch, patting at the cloth on his forehead and looking far more confused than someone as brilliant as he was ever had a right to be.

Stan hurried back to the medicine cabinet, grabbing the ibuprofen and running back with it, followed soon after by a bottle of water from the kitchen.

The problem in both cases, of course, was the cap. The [CENSORED] stupid dog-forsaken childproof CAP!

Stan, not having the patience for trying anything else, simply picked up the bottle of ibuprofen by the top, and crushed it in his teeth.

It hurt his gums a little, and he hoped he hadn’t gotten pieces of plastic lodged in there, but at least the bottle was open, allowing him to tip it and spill the pills out onto the table next to the bed. He nudged Ford’s hand, directing his attention to them.

Ford squinted at the pills, and then looked at Stan, vision clearing a little.

“Wha...you want me to take all of them?”

 _No, you idiot!_ Stan shook his head vigorously, and tapped his paw twice on the blanket.

Ford’s hands trembled, but he managed to pick up two pills, and the bottle of water which Stan gave him, and uncap the bottle by himself so he could swallow.

“Th’nks, St’nl’y.”

 _...No problem, Ford._ Stan moved the water to the table for him, and then climbed back up to continue his job as a living heating pad.

* * *

The rest of the day was like that. Sometimes Ford would see him as Mr. Mystery, and seem more lucid; sometimes he called him Stanley, or at least asked where Stanley was, looking around with a confused and lost expression that broke Stan’s heart.

He suddenly wondered, with a chill of fear, if this was part of that wrath the wizard had talked about; maybe he was the one who’d made Ford sick, and he was going to punish Stan for costing him that stupid amulet by making him-

He whimpered, and buried his nose in the crook of Ford’s neck.

He thought about going to get help, Lassie style, but wasn’t sure he was comfortable leaving Ford unattended for any length of time. So he just kept putting cold washcloths on his forehead, and every few hours getting more pills into him, and waiting this out because he was utterly useless and didn’t know what else to _do_.

Stan managed to doze on and off, but not much; most of his time was spent watching over his brother anxiously for any kind of change, wondering if he should check the journal for supernatural cures in case-

And then, to his relief, as the light of the sunset began filtering through the window, Ford’s fever finally broke, and he settled into a peaceful-looking rest at last.

Without his even giving them permission to do so, Stan’s eyes slid shut out of pure relief.

* * *

When he woke up, for a moment he thought he was back in one of those sleazy hotels where he’d sometimes stayed; it wasn’t often that he got to sleep in a real bed, but he took the opportunity whenever he could get it if it meant not having to spend another night in his car.

A hand on his back made Stan realize he wasn’t alone in the bed: that was even less common.

_Wha-who-_

Then he opened his eyes, and saw the familiar nerdy face, and remembered.

He checked Ford over anxiously, and sighed when he saw that, though still pale and sweaty, he looked a lot less like death warmed over. In fact, he was awake, and appeared to be lost in his own thoughts, absentmindedly stroking Stan’s fur with the arm that was wrapped around him.

Stan thumped his tail happily; Ford looked like himself for the first time in days. Maybe now he could convince him to eat something.

And then his brother locked eyes with him, and said with a rising excitement in his voice, “Mom never said anything about their finding a body.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Ford didn't get the coronavirus. Just a bug from not taking care of himself due to depression and grief.
> 
> ...Which I guess isn't much better, huh?


	18. A lie can only last so long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter before what's probably going to be a really big one. Like an appetizer before the main course.

**_April 7_ **

**_I am about to attempt something that I have not done in far too many years: I am going to find my brother, dead or alive._ **

**_Somehow, in that strange, inexplicable way in which inspiration comes to those who need it most, last night in my fevered dreams I realized that as long as there was a chance he was still alive, I could do so._ **

**_My first thought was that I would go to Nevada, where Stan’s car last was, and begin my search there. But as I slept, I suddenly came up with something much simpler: a formula for combining two spells to create a long-distance tracking-and-retrieval spell. It will locate him no matter where he is, and then teleport him right to Gravity Falls._ **

**_...Even if it’s just as a corpse, or even as a pile of ashes, as horrifying as those possibilities are._ **

**_I need to collect some ingredients from the forest in order to cast the spell; maybe I should change clothes first. My pajamas are all sweaty._ **

* * *

To Ford’s surprise, Mr. Mystery didn’t seem that thrilled when he told him about his epiphany. He accompanied Ford when he collected parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme from the forest, and then upon their return grabbed a few packets of medicines from his cabinet, all of which he ground up and mixed together with water and salt; but his ears were drooping so much they were practically flat against his skull, and Ford’s growing excitement seemed to do nothing to alleviate his mood.

Finally, as he dug out a globe and set it up in the living room, Ford looked over at his friend with a frown.

“What’s the matter? You’re looking very, dare I say it, hangdog.”

Mr. Mystery leaned down and picked up some tiles.

A-R-E Y-O-U S-U-R-E Y-O-U W-A-N-T T-O D-O T-H-I-S

Y-O-U M-I-G-H-T N-O-T L-I-K-E W-H-A-T Y-O-U F-I-N-D

O-R H-E M-I-G-H-T N-O-T B-E H-O-W Y-O-U R-E-M-E-M-B-E-R H-I-M

Ford shook his head firmly. “I don’t care.”

* * *

“You don’t understand, M.” He turned back to the globe, and began smearing the substance he’d created over it as he continued to talk, trying to meticulously cover every inch of the world. “It sounds like Stanley’s been in some kind of trouble-and knowing my brother, it’s something he can’t get out of by himself. He-he needs me. And it might be too little too late for me to be doing this for him now, but at least I can try, right?”

There was no answer-not even a growl or a huff.

Ford glanced over his shoulder to see an empty living room.

“...M?”

He stood up, looking around for some sign of where the big dog had gone, wondering how on earth he’d managed to sneak away so quietly-and where the devil had he run off to when he was just about to-?

And then his eyes fell on the Scrabble board.

Specifically, on the two five-letter words that had been quietly spelled out on it.

S-O-R-R-Y

S-I-X-E-R

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stan has good intentions, but...  
> *Headdesk*
> 
> I'm sure I speak for all of you by doing that.


	19. The past catches up

Stan moved through the trees as fast as he could without splitting his stitches.

_ Well, Stan, you’ve really done it now _ , he thought gloomily.  _ Now what? _

...He couldn’t even think of a good answer to that.

Maybe he should just go back to the desert, take his chances going after lizards and prairie dogs again, and let his human self...fade away. Then at least everything would maybe stop hurting, and he wouldn’t have to dwell on what he’d lost ever again.

He lost track of how long he’d spent walking, or what part of the forest he was even in; after a while all the trees sort of blended together anyway, so he could have wandered into Washington for all he knew, it wasn’t like he could see the position of the sun out here-

Stan’s paws were suddenly tingling, and the air around him was starting to glow a funny gold color.

_ Uh, what the heck is happening here? Is Mr. Wizard-? _

He barely had time to let out a startled yelp, before he vanished with a pop-

-and rematerialized in the front yard outside his brother’s house.

And before he could move, two giant arms had grabbed him and lifted him, forcing him to claw helplessly at the air.

“Thank you, Dan,” a painfully familiar voice said from behind him. “Now hold him still while I put this on.”

“No problem, doc,” the lumberjack’s voice rumbled over Stan, before one meaty hand was grabbing him by the head and pinning him in place. He felt something thick being wrapped around his neck and fastened; for one panicked moment he thought it was actually a noose-before realizing that it must be a collar. “You got any clue why he’d run away like that?”

“No, but I’m hoping that this will help me get some answers. It’s based on a prototype my friend Fiddleford came up with for one of his classes that’s supposed to transmit brainwaves into audible speech.” There was a clicking noise, and Stan was finally lowered to the ground. He turned, and saw that the collar was fastened to a leash.

Which was being held in the hand of a Ford who was looking a little...trembling with barely-contained fury, he was gonna go with.

He offered a small, sheepish smile.

_...Hey, Sixer. Didn’t expect ta see ya again so soon. Or ever. _

“Would you mind leaving us, Dan?” Ford asked, not taking his glare away from Stan. “I need to have a few words alone with my...dog.”

Dan looked a little disappointed about not getting to stay and see if the collar worked, but then he shrugged and headed back to his truck.

“Let me know if he tries ta run off again, and I’ll chase him down for ya.”

As soon as he was in his truck and it was headed down the road, Ford hissed, “Well, are you ready to talk to me now,  _ Stanley _ ?!”

* * *

In hindsight, it should have been so obvious.

So many of “Mr. Mystery’s” behaviors should have been so comfortably familiar: all the time he spent persuading Ford to eat and sleep, and even getting him to go out and talk to people; the defending him from anyone who made smart remarks about his hands; the sarcastic facial expressions; the giving him someone to lean on when he needed it.

The lies, or at least omitted truths.

Stan-now that he was looking at him with new eyes, yes, he was clearly Stan-looked at the ground, flexing his paws a little. After a second, the light on the side of the collar brightened, and his voice-sounding very much like how Ford remembered it-came out of the little radio.

_ “Um...woof?” _

“ _ Don’t _ .” Ford said through gritted teeth. His hand tightened on the end of the leash. “Don’t even try it. I cannot believe you right now.”

_ “What? Be specific.” _

Oh, he wanted specifics? Ford was going to be so  **[CENSORED]** specific.

“YOU LET ME THINK YOU WERE  _ DEAD _ !” he roared, towering over the dog and flailing his arms. “YOU LET ME  _ GRIEVE _ FOR YOU! All this time you knew PERFECTLY well who you were, and who  _ I _ was, and you  _ lied _ to me! You let me think you were just some random stranger who just HAPPENED to wind up on my doorstep, and then when your little charade was finally about to be exposed you just ran off?!”

_ “I was sparing you the trouble of throwing me out once you  _ realized _ who I was!” _ Stan yelled back, teeth suddenly bared.  _ “Yeah, I knew my real name when I first showed up here, but what was I supposed ta tell you? ‘Oh, hey Sixer, it’s me, your screw-up brother who you’ve forgotten existed, ya mind if I crash here for a while until I’m feelin’ better?’ The one who it’s  _ not your job _ ta worry about anymore?! I didn’t know what ta do, and then after ya called Mom I was even more stuck cuz I knew if I told you you’d just go RIGHT. BACK. Ta  _ hating _ me again!!!!” _

For a moment Ford was thrown off balance-several of the accusations he’d been about to throw down had been destroyed before he could even use them. But then he clenched his jaw angrily.

“Anything-almost literally  _ anything _ would have been better than hiding your identity from me. And you’re a  _ dog _ , Stanley-”

_ “Really, I hadn’t noticed!” _

“Let me finish! I would  _ not _ have thrown you out! You’ve been cursed, and you turned up half-dead on my doorstep-I wouldn’t have just-”

_ “And what if I  _ hadn’t _ been cursed?!” _ Stan snarled.  _ “Would you have  _ ever _ tried ta contact me again if you hadn’t realized I was in some kinda trouble?!” _

Ford struggled to answer for far too long, and he knew it.

The fur on Stan’s back slowly lowered, and his jaws closed back over his teeth.

_ “Yeah. I didn’t think so.” _ His anger visibly went down in degrees from a flame to more of a lowly-burning coal.  _ “I get it, okay. I screwed up a big opportunity for you. But from where I’m standing, you bounced back from that just fine. You still got everything you ever wanted, and I-I got nothing, just cuz of a dumb mistake I made back in  _ high school _. Maybe ya do feel guilty about all that, but  _ don’t _ try ta pretend like you care.” _

And he began trying to wriggle his head out of his collar.

Seeing that was enough to free Ford from the shock of being sucker-punched with words, and he put out a hand to stop him.

“Stanley, wait-it’s not like that-”

Then the trees in front of them began to shake, and a familiar, unpleasant smell assaulted their nostrils.

The two brothers’ heads jerked around-just in time for a giant skunk, still sporting multiple injuries and limping on two paws-to burst into the clearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, I went with another cliffhanger.  
> Sue me.


	20. A dish best served cold

Even though it was obviously the same skunk, with the same injuries (and apparently a massive grudge to go with them), there were several things different about her.

She seemed to have grown since they’d last seen her: she’d gone from being the size of a bear to the size of an elephant. And her smell was different. It was still bad, but...moreso. Rotten. He wondered if her wounds had gotten infected or something.

And Ford didn’t appear to see, but Stan could, that there was something in front of the skunk’s muzzle. An angry orange light, shaped a little like an arrow. Whenever the skunk moved her head, the arrow moved too-and it appeared to be constantly pointing straight at him and Ford.

_Thanks a lot, Mr. Wizard. I get the feeling this is what you were talkin’ about when you said I was gonna feel your wrath._

_“Ford! Run!”_ Stan barked at his brother, shoving at him quickly. _“That thing’s probably after me more than it is you!”_

To his eternal annoyance, Ford just dug his heels into the dirt. “I’m not going anywhere without you!”

And as touching as that was, they probably would have stood there arguing about it all day, if the skunk hadn’t suddenly been towering over them, and swiping its paw right at Ford’s head with a roar. Stan lunged in the opposite direction, using the fact that his brother was still holding his leash to yank him out of the way just in time. Then they raced like mad towards the house.

Stan knew Ford kept a crossbow in there, for some strange reason he hadn’t bothered to figure out yet; if he knew anything about how to fire it, maybe they could still have a chance at-

His brother was screaming, and Stan’s breath was unexpectedly cut off when he was jerked to a halt by his collar.

He whirled around, and saw why: Ford had unfortunately been too slow.

The giant skunk-of all the _stupid_ monster abomination things that could take them out, _why_ did it have to be a giant _skunk_ -had knocked his brother face-first into the dirt, pinning him under her paw, and was opening her jaws wide. They were pointed at his head.

Again, in spite of _everything_ that had happened to him for and because of his brother...Stan didn’t hesitate. With one leap he was shielding Ford, taking a massive bite out of the skunk’s leg for good measure.

In the next moment, he felt the creature’s jaws closing around him. There was a horrible crunching noise, and then a white-hot pain that blotted out everything else except for an anguished scream from below him.

* * *

The skunk shook its prey back and forth a few times, before it flung him away like a ragdoll. Stan went skidding and rolling across the grass, and landed limply on his side, lifeless and still.

For a second Ford, who’d sat up quickly, was frozen; then, with a roar, he leaped at the skunk and...went a little crazy.

He was suddenly everywhere at once, jabbing his fists into its eyes, ripping out chunks of fur, kicking and tearing and yelling incoherently the whole time, with no discernible thought beyond _DESTROY_.

The skunk was too startled to react at first; it probably hadn’t expected this kind of behavior from something so small and puny. And when it finally did react, it wasn’t quick enough to stop him from continuing his attack. He scrambled up onto the skunk’s back, like last time, except now he was wrapping his arms around its neck and squeezing.

The skunk reared up, trying to dislodge him, but Ford was simply too infuriated to be gotten rid of at the moment. He dug his fist into where he suspected its windpipe was, heart gladdened by the feeble gasp for air he was able to make out. But to his frustration, the abominable beast was still-not-

“HEADS UP!”

There was a loud whistling noise, followed by a _crunch_ and a wet squish right in front of Ford. The skunk staggered, and uttered a single soft moan-and then began toppling like a felled tree. Ford barely had time to release his grip on its throat and sit back before it hit the ground and he fell off.

When Ford sat up, dazed and gasping, he saw what had happened.

The giant skunk was lying quite still...with an axe lodged in its brain.

And standing there, his mouth agape, was Dan.

“I-I heard all the racket, and came to-what-”

But Ford’s eye had landed on the still brown form laying ten feet away, and he staggered to his feet, rushing towards it.

“Go to the animal hospital and bring back Dr. Marks!” he ordered over his shoulder. “Tell her it’s an emergency!”

“But-”

“ _NOW_!”

And he didn’t notice if the lumberjack obeyed him or not, because now he was kneeling and gathering the body of his brother into his arms.

“Stanley! Stanley, come on, please! Stanley!”

Ford barely noticed the blood staining his clothes, even as he cringed at the gaping wounds that were showing through the thick fur. He frantically dug his fingers into the fur around the neck, tried to find a pulse-until Stan’s eyes opened, and he let out a small sigh of relief.

“Stanley, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay. I sent Dan to get Dr. Marks, she’ll come and-and patch you up, and then when you’re better I’ll work out how to break the curse and make you human again! You hear me? You-”

 _“You can’t, Ford.”_ Stan’s voice came patching through the collar, feeble and quiet. _“The...the curse can’t be broken by someone who hates-”_

“I do _not_ hate you! I told myself I did-I wasted so much time telling myself that I hated you-but I don’t!”

 _“It’s okay,”_ his brother whispered, his dog larynx making a small pained whine. _“You don’t haveta pretend just cuz I’m dying.”_

“I’m _not_ ! I swear to you I’m not! I’m _sorry_ !” Ford’s vision was becoming incredibly blurry; he had to blink several times to get a good look at Stan’s face. “Stan-please-I can’t do this again... _Stanley_...”

It should have been kind of corny, seeing a grown man weeping over a dying dog. Like something out of one of those books that, because it got a Newbery award, you know it means the dog’s gonna get killed off at the end.

Instead, it was just tragic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I realize that quite a few of you probably hate me now.  
> And I'm sorry.  
> I just-  
> I'm sorry.


	21. “In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas corpora”

Part of Ford knew at some point he would have to let Stan go.

If Dr. Marks got here soon enough, it would be to release him into her care, assuming she could do anything for him at this juncture.

If she didn’t...he’d probably have to figure out where to bury his brother. If they’d allow him to bury a dog in the cemetery. If anyone in this town could possibly be made to understand.

But even though all that logic he prized so highly was trying to tell him this...he still saw no reason why he should let go of his brother, or move from this spot, ever again.

Not even when it began to rain.

* * *

_Hey, it doesn’t hurt as much now._

_Great; that probably means I’m dead._

_...I wonder which way I went. Because hey, dying ta save your brother hasta count for something, right? Even after a lifetime of being a liar and a cheater?_

_Shouldn’t all dogs go ta heaven or somethin’, even if they usedta be humans? I wonder if I’d like spendin’ eternity chewing rubber bones or whatever._

_Wait...something weird’s happening._

_Why’m I suddenly gettin’ colder?_

* * *

Ford opened his eyes when he felt Stan kind of shifting in his arms. At first he hoped that maybe he wasn’t dead yet. And then he saw that...he was changing.

The fur melted away, replaced by pale skin and a mop of shaggy brown hair. His face shrunk, and his ears shifted down to the sides of his head, and his paws stretched out into hands.

Ford felt a spark of hope start to come to life-but he didn’t allow it to grow too much. It was entirely possible that it was just his body returning to its original form in death for some reason, or even if he had somehow broken the curse that didn’t mean-

The wounds were vanishing.

Slowly they healed up before his eyes, leaving only smooth, unbroken (if still kind of bloodstained) skin.

It was like something out of a classic Disney movie.

* * *

Stan was absolutely _freezing_ now.

_Maybe I’m in hell. Sixer said the last level of hell’s cold, where they keep traitors. Wouldn’t surprise me if the people in charge, if there are any, decided ta put me there. It’s where everyone else decided I deserve ta be-_

Not all of him was cold, he realized. His chest and back had warm places-almost like he was being held by someone…

Curiously, he cracked his eyes open-and saw Ford staring down at him, with what looked like a mixture of blood and tears and rainwater dripping down his face and hair.

_...Okay. So either he got killed by the giant skunk too, or I’m not dead._

He tried to let out an inquiring growl-but something about the noise sounded wrong. Not the same level of deepness as before. Confused, Stan tried again.

“Mmm?”

...And now it was just getting weird, because Ford was smiling and crying at the same time, and Stan still didn’t understand why he was so freaking _cold_ , so he lifted his paw to try to tap Ford’s shoulder as a hint to clue him in on what was going on-

And then he got a look at his-his-

His _arm_.

Stan stared at it in bewilderment for a moment.

_I gotta be dreaming again. It’s not the first time I’ve had a dream like this, this can’t be-_

He wiggled his fingers. They felt real enough. He tapped each of them against his palm, which he hadn’t been able to do when he had paws. This still felt real.

Ford was still doing that scary smiling-and-crying-at-the-same-time schtick, and now that he was looking for it Stan could feel the sensation of skin being touched by skin, could feel the cloth of a sleeve pressing against his back and arm, could feel wet grass and what was probably mud against his legs-oh crap, was he naked?

Stan sat up an inch, enough to check-and quickly looked away in embarrassment.

“If I ever see that wizard again, I’m gonna kill ‘im,” he muttered. Then his eyes widened. “Wait-that was-that was actual words. I’m actually speaking words, with my mouth. I don’t have to bark! I-” he turned his head back to his brother. “... _Ford_.”

There was a lump growing in the back of his throat; he tried to swallow it down as he realized what this meant.

Ford _did_ care. He didn’t just care, he-Stan still mattered to him, he-

Ugh, it felt so corny to think it, let alone say it, but he _loved_ him.

He took the hand that was still hanging in the air, and laid it to rest on the back of his brother’s neck, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Thanks, Poindexter,” he murmured. Then, with a sudden horrified thought, “Ugh, ya didn’t _kiss_ me, did you?”

Ford barked (not literally) out a harsh laugh. “As I recall, you’re the one who has kissed _me_ several times recently-”

“No, _don’t_ say it like that, _please_ ,” Stan pleaded. “It doesn’t mean the same thing when you’re a dog, don’t try ta-”

He was cut off when Ford pulled him up into his arms, squeezing him breathless for a moment. It wasn’t long, however, before Stan reciprocated, burying his fingers in his brother’s coat and squeezing his eyes shut.

And then, unexpectedly, a voice behind them said, “Um…”

They jerked around, in time to see Dan and Dr. Marks standing there, looking down at them, looking somewhere between shocked, bewildered, more than a little confused, and possibly a little disgusted.

Ford turned bright crimson, and shrugged out of his coat, covering Stan up with it.

“Uh-would-would you believe this isn’t what it looks like? I-this isn’t-um-this is my brother, Stanley.”

Stan, unsure what else to do, waved.

“Hey. What’s up, doc?”

Dr. Marks’s jaw went up and down speechlessly.

And then Stan just started laughing.

Here he was, sitting in damp grass, completely naked except for his brother’s coat (and, he realized, the collar and leash which were still around his neck and making this whole thing look a lot worse than it actually was), being hugged by his long-lost twin brother (who, like him, was spattered with blood here and there) and gawked at by two people who were most likely completely misunderstanding the whole situation.

He had never been happier in his life.

* * *

**Over twenty years later…**

The little five-year-old girl blew a discontented raspberry.

“I wanted you ta thtay a doggy!” she complained, folding her arms and pouting.

“Gee, thanks, kid,” Stan deadpanned, looking at her over the rims of his glasses.

“Cuz then I could ride you an’ you could be my faithful thteed!” Her lisp whistled through the gap where she’d recently lost a tooth.

Both the old men sitting at the childrens’ bedsides laughed a little.

“Yeah, that would’ve been fun, wouldn’t it,” Stan admitted. “There were quite a few kids in town who tried that-some of ‘em nearly broke my back, too. Here, tell ya what-you and your brother come ta visit us during the summer, and I’ll try ta find ya some other animal ta be your steed. Like a goat or a pig or somethin’.”

The girl squealed, and bounced up and down in her bed.

“People don’t ride pigs,” the little boy in the bed next to hers pointed out in a matter-of-fact tone.

Stan rolled his eyes; he liked the kid, but he could be a bit of a buzzkill sometimes.

“Then I guess Mabel’s gonna haveta be the first one, then, won’t she?” he asked.

Dipper gave a thoughtful frown...which evolved into something more sheepish.

“...Can I be the second?” he asked.

Mabel grinned, and bounced again. “If we can find a pig big enough, then we can _both_ be the firtht ta ride one!”

Dipper smiled, pleased with the idea.

“Stan, _please_ tell me you’re not going to be on the lookout for homeless pigs from now on,” Ford complained, looking up from his journal, where he'd been showing off illustrations to accompany the story. “We have enough animals as it is.”

“Don’t be a stick-in-the-mud, Sixer. If there’s a pig out there that needs a home, we got plenty of room.”

“Why don’t we just call our property an animal sanctuary and have done with it, since you’re so hell-bent on making it into one?”

“I’ve been game for that for years. You’re the one who keeps holding out on me.”

“ _STANLEY_.”

The kids both giggled at their grunkles’ not-too-serious arguing until they smiled at each other.

Ford checked his watch, and flinched guiltily.

“Did your parents say you needed to be asleep by six or seven?”

Dipper shrugged.

“...I mean, the point is moot either way because it’s almost eight now, but I’m worried about how much trouble we’re going to get into depending on which it was.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“We’re supposed to be responsible babysitters, Stanley!”

Stan scoffed. “Considering what your sleeping schedule is like, that was out the window the minute they asked us ta watch the kids.”

“Just one more thtory? Pleeeeease?” Mabel begged, making her eyes as wide as possible. She looked over at her brother for support, and he quickly followed suit.

When their parents finally came home from their evening out, it was to find the beds pushed together, and all four troublemakers curled up around each other, fast asleep.

Though even after all these years, Stan still had a tendency to twitch his legs and occasionally whine in his sleep, right now, with his family surrounding him, he was peacefully human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the ending a little schmaltzy?  
> Yes. Yes it is.  
> Are any of you going to complain about it?  
> I have my doubts.
> 
> Hopefully you enjoyed this wild ride of a story that I threw together and posted most of in only a matter of days; I will continue to write when I can (especially since I have a few unfinished and unwritten stories that I need to work on, and this whole coronavirus crisis is forcing us all to be antisocial shut-ins who need viral entertainment), but this one is coming to a close.
> 
> Ciao.


End file.
